Students,  and  oth'  rs  who  desire  to  shorten  their  hours  of  sti 
do  so  by  using 

HAMILTOM.  LOCKE  S  OURICS 

mm  OF  mmwi  \imm 

A  GREAT  AID  TO  STUDENTS. 


The  poet  Milton  says  :  "We  do  amiss  to  spend  seven  or  eight  years  mere 
together  so  imich  miserable  Latin  and  Greek  as  might  be  learned  otherwise 
delightfully  in  one  year."   

LATIN  INTERLINEAR  TRANSLATIONS. 

Tn  ntlP  vnlnm<i    «Avql  10~."    1T„1<»  rp.._i.^-      T>  . 


DEPARTMENT  OF  M 

^.0^.   Sax.  I 


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beth,  and  by  John  Milton,  the  best  Latvu  scholar  and  tvriter  of 
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and  English  one  with  another,  he  has  got  a  moderate  knowledge  of 
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will  then  hnotv  it  only  by  kotp:  fright  any  one.    This,  when  well  e 
is  not  of  any  moment  against,  but  plainly  for,  this  way  of  learning  a 
The  languages  are  only  to  be  learned-  by  BOTE,  and  he  that  speaks  1 
has  no  other  rule  but  that."   In  teacning  classes  by  oral  dictation,  tt\ 
present  advantages  that  no  others  do. 


CLARK'S  PRACTICAL  AND  PROGRESSIVE  LATIN  GRAMIVI 

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in  lessons  extracted  from  the  Classics.  Where  this  method  has  been 
applied,  a  more  rapid  and  thorough  knowledge  of  the  elements  of  J 
always  been  the  result. 

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TUB 


STANDARD  SPEAKER; 


CONTAININa 


FOR  DECLAMATION 


lU  SCHOOLS,  ACADEMIES,  LYCEUMS,  COLLEGES  i 


KEWLY  TKANSIiATED  OR  COMPIIiED  FROM  CELEBEATED  ORATORS,  AUTHORS, 
AND  POPTJLAR  DEBATERS,  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN, 


A  TREATISE  ON  ORATCEY  AND  ELOCUTION. 


NOTES  EXPLANATORY  AND  BIOGRAPHICAL. 


By  EPES  SARGENT. 


SIXTIETH  EDITIOX, 


PHILADELPHIA: 

CHAKLES  DeSILVER  &  SONfe, 

PUBLISHERS. 


Entered  lecording  to  A«t  of  Congrese,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundrmi  and  fefSy. 
two,  Dy  Epes  S4RGENT,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  cf  the  Unite* 
States,  to-  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania 


^  Many  of  tiie  single  pieces  in  this  collection  ar«  prt>teoted  S»/  che  oopjiight 


PREPACE. 


The  distinguishing  features  of  the  present  collection  are,  the  unusuaJ 
yanety  and  methodical  arrangement  of  the  materials  ;  a  comprehensive 
grouping,  such  as  has  not  hitherto  been  attempted,  of  exercises  from  the 
most  celebrated  orators  and  popular  debaters  of  ancient  and  modern  times : 
the  allotment  of  a  liberal  space  to  original  translations  from  the  French 
and  other  languages  ;  and  the  introduction  of  notes,  explanatory  and  bio- 
graphical, with  the  dates  of  the  birth  and  death  of  authors.  Side  by  side 
with  those  pieces  of  acknowledged  excellence,  that  justify  the  title  of  the 
work,  wiD  be  found  a  large  number  that  are  now,  for  the  first"  time,  pre 
sented  as  exercises  for  recitation  and  declamation.  In  the  case  of  selee 
tions,  care  has  been  taken  to  collate  them  with  the  latest  and  mos' 
authentic  editions  of  the  works  from  which  they  are  extracted ;  and  thai 
many  current  errors  and  mutilations  have  been  avoided. 

Of  tie  British  parliamentary  specimens,  many  are  valuable,  not  onl) 
as  models  of  style,  but  as  illustrating  the  early  history  of  our  own  country 
Much  original  research  has  been  bestowed  on  this  part  of  the  volume. 
The  privilege  of  occasional  compression  beipg  indispensable,  it  has  been 
exercised  with  as  scrupulous  a  regard  as  possible  to  the  integrity  of  the 
text.  Most  of  the  extracts  from  Chatham,  Pitt,  Fox,  and  Sheridan ; 
nearly  all  from  Burke,  Grattan,  Curran,  and  Brougham  ;  all  but  one  from 
Canning  and  Macaulay ;  and  all  from  Vane,  Meredith,  Wilkes,  Sheil, 
Croker,  Talfourd,  Peel,  Cobden,  Palmerston,  Russell  and  others,  are  now, 
for  the  first  time,  introduced  into  a  "  Speaker." 

Among  the  familiar  masterpieces  of  American  oratory  will  be  found 
many  new  extracts,  not  unworthy  of  the  association.  They  belong  to  tlie 
whole  country,  and  no  sectional  bias  has  influenced  the  choice. 

Of  the  brilliant  specimens  of  the  senatorial  eloquence  of  France,  all  but 
two  have  been  translated  expressly  for  this  work.  In  the  other  depart- 
ments of  the  volume,  there  has  also  been  a  considerable  expenditure  of 
original  editorial  labor ;  all  the  highly  effective  exercises  from  Massillou, 
Hugj,  Pichat,  Mickiewicz,  and  many  others,  having  been  translated; 
all  those  from  Homer,  Schiller,  Delavigne,  Bulwsr,  Mazzini,  Kossuth,  and 

t3  01 


^  PREI'4.CB. 


Brovming ,  aiid  nearly  aU  from  Knowles,  Croly,  Horace  Smith,  and  other, 
together  with  the  comic  dialogues  from  Morton,  Mathews,  and  Coyne 
having  been  selected  or  adapted  for  this  coUection. 

It  wiU  be  seen  that  the  oratory  of  the  ancients  has  supplied  an  unusua. 
number  of  exer.cises.  A  certain  novelty  has,  however,  in  many  instances, 
been  imparted  here,  by  original  translations.  We  have  had  little  in 
modern  times,  to  surpass  the  Philippics  of  Demosthenes  or  the  Lrv 
mvective  of  ^schines.  The  putative  speeches  from  Livy,  Tacitus,  an^ 
^Uust,  have  been  newly  translated  or  adapted.  In  two  or  three  instances, 
the  translation  has  been  so  liberal  that  a  nearer  relationship  to  the  original 
than  that  of  a  paraphrase  has  not  been  claimed.  The  speeches  of  Brutus 
Cams  Marms,  Canuleius,  Virginius,  and  others,  have  been  expanded  or 
abridged,  to  serve  the  purpose  of  declamation.  The  two  speeches  of  Spar- 
tacus,  that  of  Regulus,  with  several  others,  are  now,  for  the  first  time, 
pubhshed.  The  extracts  from  that  strangely  depreciated  work,  Cowper's 
Homer,  have  the  vivid  simplicity  and  force  of  the  original,  and  are  among 
he  most  appropriate  exercises  for  elocution  in  the  whole  scope  of  Eng 
lish  blank  verse.  ^  ^ 

Throughout  the  present  volume,  in  deciding  upon  the  insertion  of  a 
piece,  the  question  has  been,  not  "  Who  wrote  it?  "  or,  "What  country 
produced  It  ?  "  but,  "  Is  it  good  for  the  purpose  ?  "  Like  other  arts,  that 
of  eloquence  IS  unhedged  by  geographical  lines  ;  and  it  is  as  inconsistent 
with  true  culture,  to  confine  pupils  to  American  models  in  this  art,  as  it 
would  be  in  sculpture  or  painting.  While  exercising  great  freedom  of 
range  m  selection,  however,  it  has  been  the  editor's  study  to  meet  all  the 
demands  of  a  liberal  patriotism  ;  to  do  justice  to  all"  the  noblest  masters 
of  eloquence,  and  to  all  schools  and  Styles,  from  which  a  grace  may  be 
borrowed ;  and,  above  aU,  to  admit  nothing  that  could  reasonably  offend 
the  ear  of  piety  and  good  taste. 

The  Introductory  Treatise  embodies  the  views,  not  only  of  the  editor 
but  of  many  of  our  most  experienced  and  distinguished  teachers,  in  regard 
to  the  unprofitable  character  of  those  "  systems  "  which  profess  to  teach 
reading  and  speaking  by  the  rule  and  plummet  of  sentential  analysis  oi 
rhetorical  notation.  Of  these  attempts  the  pupil  may  weU  exclaim,  in  the 
words  of  Cowper,  ~ 

**  Defend  me,  therefore,  common  sense,  say  I, 
From  reveries  so  airy,  —  from  the  toil 
Of  dropping  buckets  into  empty  wells. 
And  growing  old  in  drawing  nothing  up  !  *» 

Tue  preceptive  portion  of  the  Treatise  presents  no  particular  claim  to  origi 
oality ;  the  object  being  merely  to  give  ^  summary  of  all  the  discoveriei 
and  hints  that  can  be  serviceable  to  the  student,  in  the  development  of 
ttie  vocal  and  elocutionary  powers. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTORY  TREATISE 


Page 

Distinctness  to  be  Studied, 

.28 

Oratory  am"*t]!g  tlie  Ancients,  . 

Modulation  of  the  Voice,  .  . 

.  .  .  .26 

...  .15 

"        from  Bhakspeare, 

.  .  .  .28 

Modern  Oratory,  

....  16 

Illustration  from  Shakspeare, 

....  16 

.  .  .  .29 

....  16 

....  36 

Aniei''can  Oratory,  

....  16 

Illustration  from  Shakspeare, 

.  .  .  .SO 

....  16 

"        fromTalfourd,  .  . 

....  16 

Mr.  Webster's  Opinion,    .  .  • 

....  16 

...  .17 

"       B'om  Shakspeare, . 

Steele's  Measure  of  Speech,  .  . 

....  18 

Engraved  Representations, 

"     System  of  Mai'ks,   .  . 

.  .  18,19 

.  .  .  .32 

....  19 

...  .32 

....  19 

Rules  of  Inflection,  .... 
"        from  Shakspeare, 

.  .  20,21 

Illustration  from  Shakspeare^ 

...  .21 

Their  Insufficiency,  .... 

...  22 

Wl?.ately's  Objet^tions,  .  .  .  . 

,  22,23 

Failure  of  Walker's  Method, 

.      22, 23 

...  .23 

Dress  and  Manner,  

.  .  .  .'ift 

...  .23 

Attention  the  Seer  ;t,       .  . 

.      .  .23 

....  24 

IV  Strengthening  the  Voice,  .  , 

John  Quincy  Adams,  . 

.  .  24 

Management  of  the  Breath,  . 

.  .  .St> 

Divisions  of  Elocution, 

.  .  24 

.  .  .86 

Reading  Aloud,  . 

.  .  30 

.  .  38 

(mportaDC<}  of  Dictionarios, 

.  .  2A> 

EXPLANATORr  MaBKS,  . 

CONTEXTS. 


PAKT  FIRST. 

MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC 


9, 
10. 

n 

12. 

13. 

14. 
15 

16. 

17. 
18. 
19 
20. 

21. 
22 
2.3 
24 
25 
26 
27 
28 
29 
80 
31 


Truth,  

Immortalify,  .  .  .  .  , 

Utility  of  the  Bea-;itiful, 
The  Mind  of  Man,  . 
The  Wor|d,  .... 

Mechanical  Epoch,  . 
To-day,  ...... 

Dueiiist's  Konor,  ,  . 
Bay  Conceals  what 


Pag-e 

Frayssinous,  37 
.  Massiilon,  38 
.  .   Ruskin,  39 
.  .   Akenside,  40 

•  .  Ta/fourd,  41 
.  ■   Kennedy,  41 

mtkins-ton,  42 

•  .    England,  43 
Night  Reveals, 

„       ,  Nichol,  44 

Donnet,  White  45 

.  Man  s  Material  Triurophs,  .  .  ,  Fayet,  45 

fortitude,  Anonymous,  46 

.  The  Cmted  States  of  Europe,  .  .  Hu"-o 
■  The  Peaci   Oongress  of   the  Union,' 
„  .  Everett,  48 

TheSpmtofthe  Age, .  .  .  Beckwith,4:d 
Mosea  in  Sight  of  the  Promised  Land, 
XT       :  ■  Peabody,  50 

Necessity  of  Law,  Hooker,  50 

 Carlyle,  51 

lo-morro\v,  Cotton  5-' 

Eloquence  of  Action,  ...  Webster,  53 
Suicenty  the  Soul  of  Eloquence,  Goethe,  53 
The  Christian  Orator,  .  .  Fillemain,  S,i 
Affectation  in  the  Pulpit,  .  .  .  Covjper,  55 
Utility  of  History,  .  .  .  .  De  Segur,  56 
talse  Coloring  Lent  co  Wair,  Chalmers,  57 
Death's  Final  Conquest,  .  .  .  Shirley,  58 

j^eligion,  Lamartine,  58 

The  Saviour's  Reply,  Milton,  59 

Nobihty  of  Labor,  Dewey,  60 

Labor  is  Worship,  Osgood,  61 

Moral  and  Physical  Science,  .  .  Chapin,  62 

The  Order     Natui-e,  Powe  63 

Future    Empire   of    our  Language' 
p,      '  Bethune,  63 

Compensations    of  the  Imagination, 

_         ^  Akenside,  64 

ihe  Great  Distinction  of  a  Nation, 
urn  i.  ,^  ,  Channing,  65 

What  Makes  a  Hero,    ....  Taylor,  66 

it  a  Last  Hours  of  Socrates,  66 

I'o  ^  9'"'^^'  Yankee,  67 

America's  Contributions,  Ferplanck,  68 
rhe  True  King,  ^t,^/  69 


40.  Death  is  CompensatioR  Rousseau 

41.  Fate  of  Charles  Xn.,  .  .  .Johnson, 

42.  Our  Duties,  story, 

43.  Love  of  Country,      .  Montgomery 

44.  Natu)-e  a  Hard  Creditor,  .  .  Carly'e 

45.  Time's  Midnight  Voice,  .  .  .  Young 

46.  The  Common  Lot,    .  .  3Iontgomer%, 

47.  True  Som-ce  of  Reform,  .  .  Chapin 

48.  The  Beacon  Light,  ....  Pardoe 

49.  Cleoii  and  I,  .  Mackay, 

50.  Problem  for  the  U.  States,  Boardman, 

51.  American  Experiment,   .  .  Everett 

52.  The  Ship  of  State,  Luni 

^2-  Lines,  Longfellow, 

55.  Death  Typified  by  Winter,  Thomson, 

56.  Religious  Inducements,   .  .  .  James 

57.  Never  Despair,  Lovr 

58.  Charity,  Talfourd, 

59.  The  Battle-field,  Bryant 

60.  Dizzy  Activities,  Everett 

61.  The  Good  Great  Man,    .  .  Coleridge' 

62.  Taxes,  Sydney  Smith, 

63.  The  Press,  Elliot, 

o4.  Defence  of  Poetry,  .      ...  Wolfe 

65.  Great  Ideas,  Channing] 

66.  England,  Elliot, 

67.  Hallowed  Ground, ....  Campbell, 

68.  Nature  Proclaims  a  Deity,  Chateau- 

-  briand, 

69.  What  we  owe  the  Sword,  .  .  Grimke,  92 

70.  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  Hunt,  93 

71.  Polonius  to  Laertes,  .  .  Shakspeare  94 
t'2.  Where  is  he,  Neele'  94 

73.  International  Sympathies,    Wayland,  9? 

74.  Worth  of  Fame,  Bailli" 


91 


92 


75.  Frivolous  Pleasures,  ....  Youn"- 
"■"^   " Hiber,  97 


97 


6.  For^^ 

77.  Science  Religious,  ,  .  .  Hitchcock. 

78.  Triumphs  of  the  English  Language, 

Lyons,  93 

/9.  The  Water  Drinker,  .  .  E.  Johnson,  99 
BO.  The  Days  that  are  Gone,  .  Mackay,  100 
81.  The  Work-sliop  and  Camp,  ....  101 
"2.  The  Wise  Man's  Prayer,       Johnson,  IM 


98 


PART  SECOND. 

MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR. 


1  Scipio  to  his  Army,  Li^y^  103 

2  Hannibal  to  his  Army,   M.,  104 

3  Regulus  to  the  Roman  Senate,  On'g^l,  ]05 

4.  Leoiiidas  to  his  Three  Hundred,  Pichnt,  107 

5.  Brutus  over  the  dead  Lucretia,  Ortir'/ 

and  compiled,  107 

6.  Achilles'  Reply,      Cowper's  Homer,  108 

7.  Hector's  Re))uke,  Id.,  ^09 

8   H.ctor's  lOxplcvit,  /,/.,  no 

8     f-ctor  Slain,  la.,  m 

10  It  leiiiachus  to  the  Chiefs,  Fenelon,U'.i 
i\   Titus  Quintiua  .  .    Lii^y  m 


12.  Cams  Manus,  SanH.<<t 

13.  Cuius  Gracchus,    ....  KtioivU-.t 

14.  Galgacus,  Tariius 

15.  Icilius  on  Virginia's  Seizure,  Bhir.aiilay 

16.  The  Spartans'  March,  .      .  Hrmmis. 

17.  The  Greeks' Return,  .....  /,/., 
18-  Ode,   Collins, 

19.  Virginius'  Refusal  to  Claudius,  Livy, 

20.  Canuleius  against  Patrician  Arrogance, 

21.  Catiline  to  his  Army,  ....  Jonson] 

22.  Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators.  Kellos/;, 


,  lift 

116 
,  117 
,118 
,  US 
,  119 
12« 
12f, 

12: 

12" 
12i 


CONTENTS 


Pag'e 

B  Iftpartacus  to  the  Roman  Envoys,  Orig.,  124 
iL  Marullus  to  the  Romans,  Shakspeare,  126 
25.  Brutus  on  Cajsar's  Death, ....  Id.,  126 

86.  Mark  Antony,  "  ....  Id.,  127 

2T.  Moloch's  Address,  Milton,  129 

28.  BeUal'8  Address,  /d.,  131 

129.  The  Death  of  Leonidas,  .  .  .  Croly,  132 
80.  Catilme  to  the  Gallic  Conspirators,  Id.,  133 
Bl.  Catiline's  Last  Hai-angue,  .  ...  Id.,  134 
82.  The  Bard's  Summons,    .  .  .  Bulwer,  135 

33.  Caradoc  to  Cymi-ians,  Id.,  136 

84.  Alfred  to  his  Men,  ....  Knowles,  137 
36.  Rienzi  to  the  Romans,  .  .  Mitford,  138 
B6.  The  Patriot's  Pass-word,  iVibn^g-OTner*/,  139 

87.  Richard  to  the  Princes,  ....  Scott,  140 
38.  Richmond  to  his  Men,  .  Shakspeare,  141 
49  Henry  V.  to  his  Men,       ....  Id.,  142 


Pa5 

40.  Battle  of  Ivry,  Maca%i.ay,  143 

41.  Van  Artevelde  to  Men  of  Ghent, Ta|  tor,  146 

42.  Wat  Tyler  to  the  King, .  .    Southey,  146 

43.  The  Soldier's  Dream,  .  .  .  Campbel'.  14^ 

44.  Before  Quebec,   Wolfe,  14T 

45.  The  American  Flag,  ....    Drake,  143 

46.  To  his  Men,  before  the  Battle  of  Long 

Island,   If'ashington,  150 

47.  To  the  Army  of  Italy,   .  .  Napo.eon,l^Q 

48.  Byron  to  the  Greeks,    .    Lamar  tine,  Ibl 

49.  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,  .  .    Wolfe,  Vol 

50.  Ilohenlinden,   Camphell,  153 

51.  Song  of  Greeks,  M.,  ].54 

52.  Fall  of  Warsaw,  Id.,  lab 

53.  Marco  Bozzaris,  Halleck,  l&a 

54.  The  Seminole's  Defiance   .  .  Patten,  158 

55.  Battle  Hymn,   Ko^ner,  158 


PART  THIRD 


SENATORIAL. 


1  Against  Philip,  ....  Demosthenes,  159 
•  Degeneracy  of  Athens,   ....    Id.,  160 
t.fmocracy  hateful  to  Philip,  .  .    /rf.,  161 
«.  "Venality  the  Ruin  of  Greece,  .  .    Id.,  162 

5.  Demosthenes  Denounced,  Mschines,  163 

6.  Exordium,  .    •  .  .  .  .  Demosthenes,  165 

7.  Public  Spirit  of  Athenians,  ...    Id.,  166 

8.  Demosthenes  not  Vanquished,  .    Id.,  167 

9.  Catiline  Denounced,  ....    Cicero,  168 

10.  Catiline  Expelled,  /d.,  169 

11.  Verres  Denounced,  M.,  170 

FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

12.  Against  the  Nobility,  &c.,   Mirabeau,  171 

13.  Neckei-'s  Financial  Plan,    .  .  .    Id.,  172 

14.  Disobedience  to  National  Assembly, 173 

15.  Reply,  '  -  -    Id.,  174 

16.  On  being  Suspected,  U.,  175 

17.  Eulogium  on  Franklin,    ....    Id.,  177 

18.  Church  and  State,  Id.,  177 

19.  To  the  French,  Vergniaud,  178 

20.  Terrorism  of  Jacobins,  /d.,  179 

21.  Against  War,  Robespierre,  180 

22.  Morality  the  Basis  of  Society,    .    /d.,  181 

23.  Last  Speech,  Id.,  182 

24.  To  the  Peers,  Trilat,  183 

25.  The  Republic,  Lamartine,  185 

26.  Democracy  adverse  to  Socialism,  De 

Tocqueville,  185 

27.  Practical  Religious  Instruction,  Huq:o,  186 

28-  Necessity  of  Religion,  Id.,  187 

29.  Universal  Suflfrage,  Id.,  188 

50.  Liberty     the  Press,  Id.,  189 

A  Republic  or  Monarchy,  .  .  .  /d.,  190 
8i  The  Two  Napoleons,  /d.,  191 


BRITISH. 

53.  The  End  of  Govermnent.    .  .  .  Pym,  192 

54.  Defence,    ....    Earl  of  Strafford,  193 

86.  Reducing  the  Army,  .  .  Pulteney,  195 
BO.  Against  Richard  Cromwell,  .  .  f^ane,  196 

87.  How  to  make  Patriots,  .  .  .  Waipole,  196 

88.  Against  Pitt  (Earl  of  Chatham),  .    Id.,  197 

89.  Reply  to  Waipole,  Earl  of  Chatham,  198 
la  Reply  to  GrenviUe,  W.,  199 


41.  Reconciliation  with  America,  Chatham,  201 

42.  Repeal  claimed  as  a  Right, ...    /d  ,  202 

43.  Lord  North's  Ministry,  ....  /d.,203 
45.  On  Employing  Indians,  ....    /d.,  204 

45.  Ruinous  Consequences,  ....    Id.,  205 

46.  America  Unconquerable,  ....    Id.,  206 

47.  Frequent  Executions,  .  .    Meredith,  207 

48.  Parliamentary  Innovations,  Beaufoy,  208 

49.  Religious  Persecution,  .  Cornptlaiion,  209 

50.  America's  Obligations,  ....   Barri,  210 

51.  Reply  to  Lord  North,   Id.,  21"« 

52.  Bold  Predictions,  Wilkes,  21^ 

53.  Conquest  of  Americans,      .  .  .    Id.,  213 

54.  Reply  to  Duke  of  Grafton,    Thurloic,  214 

55.  Present  Popularity,    Lord  Mansfield,  214 

56.  Magnanimity  in  Politics,    .  .  Burke,  215 

57.  American  Enterprise,  .....    W.,  216 

58.  American  Taxation,   Id.,  217 

59.  Despotism  Unrighteous,     ...    Id.,  218 

60.  Impeachment  of  Hastings,     .  .    Id.,  219 

61.  Peroration  against  Hastings,  .  .    /d.,  220 

62.  To  the  Bristol  Electors,  ....    Id.,  221 

63.  Marie  Antoinette,   Id.,  222 

64.  Irish  Rights,  (Srattan,  223 

65.  Reply  to  Flood,   Id.,  224 

66.  National  Gratitude,   Id.,  225 

67.  Catholic  Disqualification,    .  .  .    Id.,  226 

68.  Heaven  on  the  Side  of  Principle,     Id.,  2^6 

69.  Against  Corry,   id.,  227 

70.  Union  with  Great  Britain,     .  .    Id.,  228 

71.  The  Catholic  Question,    ....    Id.,  229 

72.  Religion  Inaependent,     ....    Id.,  230 

73.  Sectarian  Tyranny,   Id.,  231 

74.  American  War  Denounced,    .  .  Pitt,  232 

75.  Motion  to  Censure  Ministry,  .  .    Id.,  232 

76.  Attempt  to  make  him  Resign,   .    /d.,  233 

77.  Barbarism  of  Ancient  Britons,  .    7d.,  234 

78.  Results  of  American  War,  .  .  .  Fox,  235 

79.  AVashington's  Foreign  PoUcy,  .    /d.,  23(!f 

80.  Liberty  is  Strength,   Id.,  237 

81.  Democratic  Governments,      .  .    Id.,  238 

82.  Partition  of  Polanl,     ....       Id.,  2:39 

83.  Atheist  Government  null,   .  Shertdan,  24C 

84.  Political  Jobbing,  Id.,  241 

85.  Popular  and  Kingly  Examples,  .    Id.,  241 

86.  Reform  in  Parliament,     .  Lord  Grey,  24S 

87.  Conservative  Innovators,  Wuskisnon,  243 

88.  The  Pension  Systera,    .  ,  .  Curran.  'U* 


fin 


CONTENTS. 


90. 

91. 

92. 

93. 

hi. 

Q& 

96 

97. 

98. 

99 
iOO 
hJl 
1)2. 
103 

m. 

1.^5. 
IU6. 
107 
l'»8. 
1)9. 
liO. 
111. 
112. 
113. 
114. 
115. 
116. 
117. 
118. 
119. 
120. 
121. 
122. 
123. 
124. 
125. 
126. 


127. 
128. 
129. 
130. 
131. 
132. 
133. 
134. 
135. 
136. 
137. 
138 
139 
140. 
141 
142. 
143. 


Page 

On  Threats  of  Violence,  .  .  Cwrraw,  245 
Religious  Distinctions,  ....  Id.,  246 
War  witli  France,  ....  Canning,  246 
Bank-notes  and  Coin,  ....  Id.,  247 
Lord  J.  Russell's  Motion,  •  .  .  Id.,  248 
Jlr.  Tierney's  Motion,    ....    Id.,  249 

Defence  of  Pitt,  Id.,  250 

Measures,  not  Men,  Id.,  251 

Balance  of  Power,  Id.,  252 

Collision  of  Vices,  Id.,  253 

England  and  America,  Mackintosh,  254 
Fate  of  Reformers,  .  .  .  Brougham,  '2bb 
Parliamentary  Reform,  ....  Id.,  256 
Religious  Liberty,  ,  .  .  O^Connell,  257 
Ii-ish  Disturbance  Bill,  ....  Id.,  258 
The  Death  Penalty,  ....  Byron,  259 
Charges  against  Catholics,    .  SheiL  260 

Irish  Aliens,   Id.,  261 

Irish  Establishment,  Id.,  262 

Repeal  of  Union,  .  .        .  .  .    Id.,  263 

England's  Misrule,  Id.,  264 

Civil  War,  .  .  .  Lord  Palmerston,  265 
Reform,    ....    Lord  J.  Russell,  266 

Irish  Church,  Blacaulay,  267 

Hom-s  of  Labor,  /rf.,  268 

Reform,  to  Preserve,  Id.,  269 

Men  always  fit  to  be  Free,  .  .  Id.,  210 
Second  Bill  of  Rights,  ....  Id.,  210 
Public  Opinion,  the  Sword,  .  .  Id.,  271 
A  Government  should  Grow,    .    Id.,  272 

Reform  irresistible,  Id.,  273 

Reply  to  119,  Croker,  275 

Perils  of  Reform,  Id.,  275 

Copyright,  Talfourd,  276 

Literary  Property,  Id.,  277 

International  Copyright,  ...    Id.,  278 

Legislative  Union,  Peel,  279 

American  Vessels,  ....  Cobden,  280 


Resistance,  Henry,  281 

War  inevitable,   ........    Id.,  282 

Return  of  British  Fugitives,  .  .  Id.,1%Z 

Supposed  Speech,  Otis,  284 

For  Independence,  Lee,  285 

Federal  Constitution, .  .    Franklin,  286 

God  Governs,  /</.,  287 

For  a  Declaration,  ....  Adams,  288 
Conclusion  of  foregoing,  .  .  .  Id.,  289 
On  Government,  ....   Hamilton,  290 

U.  S.  Constitution,  Id.,  291 

Aristocracy,  Livingston,  292 

Extent  of  Country,  .  .  •.  Randolph,  293 
France  and  the  U.  S.     Washingtori,  294 

Foreign  Influence,  Id.,  294 

Sanctity  of  Treaties,  ....  Ames,  295 
The  British  Treaty,  Id.,  296 


144  The  Strongest  OoveriMaent,  Je^crson,  29^ 
I  145.  Freedom  of  Judges,    .  .  .    Bayard,  291 

!  146.  Judiciary  Act,  Morns.  29S 

I  147.  Free  Navigation,  Id.,  300 

148.  Foreign  Conquest,  .  .      .  Clinton,  301 

149.  Innovations,   Madison,  302 

150.  Party  Intempei-ance,  .  .  .   Gaston.  302 

151.  The  Embargo,  Quincy,  303 

152.  Disunion,  Pinkney,  304 

153.  British  Influence,    .  .  J  Randolph,  30f. 

154.  Greek  Question,  Id.,  30d 

155.  Virginia  Constitution, .....   Id.,  307 

156.  Against  Duelling,  .  .    Compilation,  308 

157.  The  Declaration,  .  .    J.  Q,.  Adams,  309 

158.  Washington's  Sword,  &c.,    .  .    Id.,  310 

159.  Union  with  Liberty,  .  .  .  Jackson,  311 

160.  War,  Binney,  312 

161.  The  Supreme  Court,  Id.,  312 

162.  U.  S.  Constitution,  ....    Legari,  313 

163.  On  Returning  to  the  U.  States,     Id.,  314 

164.  In  Favor  of  War,  1813, .  .  .  .  CZ«y,  315 

165.  Jefferson  Defended,  Id.,  316 

166.  Military  Insubordination,  .  .  .    Id.,  316 

167.  Noblest  Pubhc  Virtue,  ....    Id.,  317 

168.  Expunging  Resolution,  ....    Id.,  318 

169.  Independence  of  Greece,   .  .  .    Id.,  319 

170.  Prospect  of  War,  Calhoun,  320 

171.  The  Force  Bill,  Id.,  321 

172.  Purse  and  Sword,  Id.,  322 

173.  Liberty  the  Meed,  Id.,  323 

174.  Popular  Elections,  .  .  .   McDuffie,  324 

175.  Military  Quahfications, .    Sergeant,  325 

176.  Opposition,  Webster,  326 

177.  Moral  Force,  /d.,  327 

178.  Sympathy  with  South  America,    Id.,  328 

179.  The  Poor  and  Rich,  Id.,  329 

180.  Sudden  Conversions,  Id.,  330 

181-  Constitution  P'atform,   ....    Id.,  331 

182.  Resistance  to  Oppression,  .  .  .    Id.,  332 

183.  Peaceable  Secession,  Id.,  333 

184.  Clay's  Resolutltwio-,  Id.,  333 

185.  Justice  to  the  HTiole,    ....    Id.,  334 

186.  Matches  and  Over-matches,  .  .    Id.,  335 

187.  S.  Carolina  and  Mass.,  ....    Id.,  336 

188.  Liberty  and  Union,  Id.,  338 

189.  Reply  to  Webster,  ....     HMine,  339 

190.  The  South  in  1776,  Id.,  340 

191.  The  South  in  1812,  Id.,  341 

192.  Defalcations,  Prentiss,  342 

193.  American  Laborers,    .  .  ,    Naylor,  343 

194.  Fulton's  Invention, .  .  .    Hojf'man,  344 

195.  Sectional  Services,  ....  Cashing,  345 

196.  National  Hatreds,   ....    Choate,  346 

197 .  Precedents,  Cass,  347 

198.  On  Intervention,  .  .  .  J.  Clemens,  Z/k^ 

200.  Hazards  of  Prosperity,  W.  R.  Smith,  349 

201.  Flogging  in  the  Navy, .  .  Stockton,  350 

202.  Gov't  Extravagance,   .  Crittenden,  362 


PART  FOURTH. 
FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL. 


Paje 

Liberty  of  the  Press,  ....    Curran,  353 

8.  Mr.  Rowan,   /</.,  353 

B.  Habeas  Corpus  Act,  Id.,  354 

1.  Appeal  to  lionl  Avmimore,  .  .  •  Id.,  355 
6.  On  being  fimid  Guilty,  .  .  .  Emmet, 'ibi 
6.  Great  Minds  and  Christianity,  Erskine,  362 

On  Biadini;  Judgment,  .  .  Manqfield,  364 


8.  Defence  of  Peltier,  .  .  .  MMkintosh,  365 

9.  Instigators  of  Treason,    .  .  .    Wirt,  36« 

10.  Burr  and  Blennerhassetfc,    .  .  .    Id.,  5.61 

11.  Reply  to  Wickham,  Id.,  36& 

12.  Guilt  its  ow-a  Betrayer,    .     Webster,  369 

13.  Moral  Powei,  Mr, Lean,  37Q 

14.  The  D«ath  Penalty,  Hugf,  8»« 


CONTENTS. 


n 


PAKT  FIFTH. 
POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL. 


Page 

1  Tts  Exampla  of  America,  .  .  Jeffrey,  373 

5  Government  Vigor,  ....  5.  Smith,  374 
.  5.  Rejection  of  Reform,  Id.,  374 

^  Address  to  Young  Men,  .  .  Mazzini,  375 
&.  Ai  peal  to  Hungarians,    .  .  Kossuth,  311 

6  Ccatentmeut  of  Europe,  ....    Id.,  378 

7  Hungarian  Heroism,  Id.,  379 

8,  In  a  Just  Cause,  Id.,  379 

9.  Peace  Inconsistent,  Id.,  380 

10  The  22d  Dec,    ...  Sir  H.  Bulwer,  381 

11.  Britisli  Aggressions,  .  J.  ^uincy,  Jr.,  382 

12.  Eloquence  and  Logic,  .  .  .  Preston,  383 

13.  Relief  to  Ireland,  Prentiss,  384 

14  Plea  for  the  SaUor,   .  .  Mount/ordy 


Pa? 

15.  Relations  to  England,  .  .  .  Ever  ett,  386 

16.  Great  Examples,  Eve?  ett,  38? 

17.  V/iiat  Good  will  the  Monument  do,  /d.,  38» 

18.  Revolutionary  Veterans,  .  .  Webster,  388 

19.  State  Obligations,  .......    Id..,  S91 

20.  Fourth  of  July  Id.,  391 

21.  Apostrophe  to  Washington,    .  .    Id.,  393 

22.  Power  of  Public  Opinion,  ....    Id.,  394 

23.  Future  of  the  U.  States,  .  .  .  King,  395 

24.  Agricultural  Interest,  .  .  .  Cushing,  396 

25.  European  Struggles,  ....  Johnson,  396 

26.  Birth  day  of  Washington,    .    Choate,  397 

27.  California's  Prospects,  .  .  .  Bpunett,  398 

28.  Standard  of  Constitution, .  .  Webster,  399 


PART  SIXTH. 
NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL. 


Pag-e 

The  Crucifixion,  Croly,  401 

Seventh  Plague  of  Egypt,  .  .  .  Id.,  403 
Three  Days  of  Columbus,  Delavigne,  405 
Destruction  of  the  Philistines,  Milton,  407 
Sata,n's  Encounter  with  Death,  .  Id.,  408 
Belshazzar's  Feast,  ....  Hughes,  409 
Bernardo  del  Carpio,    .  .  .  Hemans,  411 

Casablanca,  Id.,  412 

Rocks  of  My  Country,  Id.,  413 

The  Two  Homes,  Id.,  413 

Invocation,  Id.,  414 

Lochinvar,  Scott,  iU 

Marmion  taking  Leave,  ....    Id.,  416 

Death  of  Marmion,  Id.,  417 

Death  of  Bertram,    ......    /d.,  418 

Love  of  Country,  Id.,  419 

Baron's  Last  Banquet,  .  .  .  Greene,  420 
How  they  brought  the  Good  News 

from  Ghent  to  Aix,  .  .  Browning,  421 
The  Soldier  from  Bingen,  .  Norton,  422 
The  Torch  of  Liberty,  ....  Moore,  424 
Sailor-boy's  Dream,  ....  Dimond,  425 
Damon  and  Pythias,    .  .  .  Schiller,  427 

The  Battle,  /d.,  429 

The  aiov«,    .  ,  /d.,  431 


Pigs 

25.  Fate  of  V  irginia,   ....  Macautay,  432 

26.  Horatius  at  the  Bridge,  ....    Id.,  433 

27.  Execution  of  Montrose,    .  .  ^I'ioun,  435 

28.  Peace  and  War,  Shelley,  437 

29. *  America  to  Britain,  ....  Allston,  438 
.30.  Old  Ironsides,  Holmes,  439 

31.  Ball  at  Brussels,  Byron,  439 

32.  The  Dying  Gladiator,  Id.,  441 

33.  Degeneracy  of  Greece,  /d.,  441 

34.  Sennacherib,  Id.,  442 

35.  The  Tempest  stilled,  Lyons,  443 

36.  Excelsior,  Longfellow,  444 

37.  To  the  Rainbow,    ....    Campbell,  445 

38.  Glenara,  /d.,  446 

39.  The  O'Kavanagh,  Shea,  447 

40.  Ode  on  the  Passions,    .  .  .    Collins,  448 

41.  The  Greek  and  Turkman,    .  .  Croly,  450 

42.  The  Curse  of  Cain,  Knox,  451 

43.  America,  Berkeley,  45*4 

44.  The  World  for  Sale,  Hoyt,  452 

45.  Death  of  Gen.  Taylor, .  .  .    Conrad,  454 

46.  The  Passage,  .  i"!  ij^..  .  .  .    Uhland,  455 

47.  Covu-age,     .  .  f ;        .  .  .  Procter,  456 

48.  The  Moor's  Revengfe,'  .  Mickiewiez,  456 

49.  Charade  on  Campbell,  ....  Praed,  459 


PART  SEVENTH. 
SCRIPTURAL  AND  DEVOTIONAL. 


Page 

1,  Balaam's  Prophecy   459 

il  Paul's  Defence  460 

i-  Otnnjpotence  of  Jehovah,  ....    Job,  461 

4.  True  Wisdom,  Id.,  462 

5..  A  Nation's  Strength,  ....    Psalms,  463 

5.  E.xhortation  to  praise  God,  463 

T.  Ib.«  Joyful  Messenger. .  .         Isaiah,  464 


Ptn 

8.  Hymn  of  Our  First  Parents.  .  Milton,  464 

9.  Universal  HjTiin,    ....  Thomson,  461 

10.  Chamouny,  Coleridse,  467 

11.  The  Dying  Christian,  Pope,  469 

12.  Life  beyond  the  Tomb,    .  .  .  Beattie,  469 

13.  Forgiveness,  Anon.,  47« 

14.  The  Chi-istian  Life  .  .  .  Doddridif. 


I 


CONTENTS. 


PART  EIGHTH. 
RHETOP.ICAL  AND  DRAMATIC. 

Page  I  Ptgt 

1.  Rome  and  Carthage,  Hugo,  ill  \  23.  Brutus  and  Cassiua,  .  .   Shaksptare.,  491 

2.  Drones  of  tha  Community,  .  Shelley,  472  24.  Regrets  of  Drunkenness,  ....  Id., 

8.  Csesar's  Passage  of  Rubicon,  JSTno  w/es,  473  25.  Cassius  instigates  Brutus,  ...  Id.,  500 
4.  Rolla's  Address,  5Aerirfan,  473  !  26.  Cardinal  Wolsey,  ,  /d.,  501 

>6.  Richelieu  to  the  King,   •  .  .  Bulwer,  474  '  27.  Hamlet  to  the  Players,  Id.,  502 

6.  Cromwv>ll  by  Coffin  of  Charles  I.,  Id.,  475  i  28.  Hamlet's  Soliloquy,  Id.,  50S 

1.  Virtue  of  Great  Examples,  .  .  Byron,  476  I  29.  Not  ashamed  of  his  Trade,  .  Morton,  504 

-.-^  Mai-ino  Faliero  to  Conspirators,    Id.,  477  j  30.  The  Union  and  Government,  .  Simms,  oOl 

9.  Marino  Faiiero's  Dying  Speech,  .  Id.,  478  |  31.  Colonna  to  the  King,  SheiU  507 

^10.  CatiUne  to  his  friends,  ....  Croly,  480  ;  32.sifAddres3  to  the  Swiss,  .  .  .    Schiller,  508 

11.  Catihne's  Defiance,  Id.,  481  j  33V  Wm.  Tell  m  Wait  for  Gesler,  .  .  Id.,  509 

12.  Pride  of  Ancestry,  /d.,  482  34.  Wm.  TeU's  Escape,  Id.,  511 

13.  Lochiel's  Warning,    .  .  .  Campbell,  483  :  35.  Wallenstein's  Soliloquy,    .  .      .  Id.,  512 

14.  Van  Artevelde's  Defence,  .  .  Taylor,  485  36.  Belief  in  Astrology,  Id.,  513 

15.  Duty  to  One's  Csuntry,  .  .  .  .  More,  486  i  37-  Grief  of  Bereavement,  Id.,  bU 

. .  J.6.  St.  Pierre  to  Ferrardo,   .  .  Knowles,  487  I  38.  Priuli  and  Jaffier,  .....   Otway,  514 

17.  Wm.  Tell  on  Switzerland, ....  Id.,  488  j  39.  Nothmg  in  it,  Mathews,  517 

18.  Tell  among  the  Mountains,  .  .  .  Id.,  489  i  40.  Moses  at  the  Fan-,  Coyne,  519 

19.  The  Fractious  Man,  ....  Brueys,  489  j  41.  Van  den  Bosch  and  Artevelde,  Taylor,  520 
i».  Balthazar  and  the  Quack,  .  .    Tobin,  491  42.  The  Weathercock,  .  .  .  Allingharn,  523 

21.  Erutus  and  Titus,  Lee,  492  43."  Saladm  and  Malek  Adhel,  .....  b2& 

22.  Cato's  Soliloquy,  Addison,  495  '  44.  Damon  to  Syracusans,    .  .  .  Banim^  530 


PAUT  NINTH. 
COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL. 


Paj8 

1.  Speech  of  Buzfuz,  Dickens,  531 

2.  Art  of  Book-keeping,    ....   Hood,  633 

5.  Magpie  and  Monkey,  .  .  .  Triarte,  534 
4.  Rich  Man  and  Poor,  ,  .  Khemnitzer,  536 

6.  Whittling,  J.  Pierpont,  537 

6.  City  Men  in  the  Coimtry,    .  Holmes,  538 

7.  Fuss  at  Fires,  Anon.,  639 

8.  One  Story 's  Good  till  another  is  Told, 

Swain,  640 

t.  The  Great  Musical  Critic,  641 


Page 

10.  Dramatic  Styles,  M2i 

11.  Merchant  and  Stranger,  .  H.  Smith,  64?- 

12.  Victim  of  Reform,  544 

13.  Not  Fine  Feathers  make  Fine  Birds,  54o 

14.  Culprit  and  Judge,  .  .  Horace  Smith,  546 

15.  Jester  Condemned  to  Death,  .  .  .  Id.,  547 

16.  Poet  and  Alchemist,  /d.,  547 

17.  Blindman's  Buff,  /</.,  548 

18.  Farmer  and  Counsellor,  Id.,  549 

19.  Puff's  Account  of  HunseU;   Sheridan,  650 


1^'       PART  TENTH. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 


Pa^e 

•I  Black  Hawk  to  Gen.  Street,  551 

I  Pushmataha  to  Sec.  of  War,  652 

I  Supposed  Speech  of  Chief  of  Pacomtuo 

Inclians,  Everett,  652 

i  Logan  to  Lord  Dummore,  653 

I  Moral  Coimettca, .  .  .  Abraee  Smith,  m 


6.  Pauper's  Death-bed,  .  C.  B.  .*»Mf*ey,  66i 

7.  Hope,  Surah  ¥.  Mams^  554 

8.  Death,  .  fforoc*  55fl 

9.  Laohr3nnose  Writew,  ,  .  .  j  .  .  §61 
10.  The  gaoiituary,  


INDEX  TO  NAMES  OE  AUTHORS,  ETC 


Page 


ftaBKXss,  Reply  Of,  .     .  .  .  108 

iCAMS,  JoHH,  Supposed  Speech  of,    .  .  288 

"        "     Couclusion,  289 

iDAMS,  J.  Q.,  The  Declaration,  309 

"     "  "    Washington  and  Franklin,  310 

Adams,  Sarah  Hope,  

A.DDISON,  Cato's  Soliloquy,  495 

ffiscHiNES,  Denunciation  of  Demosthenes,  163 

A.KENSIDE,  The  Mind  of  Man,  40 

"        Compensations  of  Imagination,  64 

Alfred,  to  his  Troops,  137 . 

Allingham,  The  Weathercock,  523 

Allston,  America  to  Britain,  438 

Ames,  Sanctity  of  Treaties,  295 

"     The  British  Treaty,  .  296 

ANONTMO0S,  Fortitude,  46 

"         The  Work-shop  and  Camp,  .  101 

"        Forgiveness,  470 

"         Saladin  and  Malek  Adhel,  .  .  525 
"         Fine  Feathers  and  Birds,  .  .  546 
Antony,  Mark,  on  Caisar's  Death,  ....  127 

Austin,  Chironomia,  32 

Attoon,  Execution  of  Montrose,     ....  435 

Baillie,  Worth  of  Fame,  .  96 

Balaam,  Prophecy  of,  459 

Banim,  Damon's  Speech,  430 

Barre,  Isaac,  America's  Obligations,    .  .  210 
"         "     Reply  to  Lord  North,  ...  211 

Bayard,  Freedom  of  Judges,  29-3 

Bayly,  T.  II.,  The  Pilot,  91 

Beattie,  Life  beyond  the  Tomb,  469 

Beaufoy,  Parliamentary  Innovations,  .  .  208 
Becewith,  Spirit  of  the  Age  against  War,  .  49 

Belial,  Address  of,   .   131 

BexN'nett,  California's  Prospects,  398 

Berkeley,  America,  452 

Bethone,  Future  Empire  of  our  Language,  63 

Binney,  War,  312 

"      The  Supreme  Court,  312 

Black  Hawk,  Speech  of,  551 

Boardman,  Problem  for  the  TJ.  S.,  .  .  .  .  78 
BOWRING,  Translation  from  Khemnitzer,    .  536 

BaooGEAM,  Lord,  Translation,  165 

"  "     Translation,  167 

"  "      Fate  of  Reformers, ...  255 

"  "      Parliament  Reform,   .  .  256 

Bbowning,  How  News  came  to  Ghent,  .  .  421 

BmrSYS,  The  Fractious  Man,  489 

BatJTDS,  On  Lucretia's  Death,  107 

Brutus,  Marcus,  On  Ceesar's  Death,  ...  126 

Bkyant,  The  Battle  Field,  85 

Bulwer,  Sir  II.,  The  22d  Dec,  381 

Bui.WER,  (See  Lytton.) 

IJtrKSE,  Magnanimity  in  Politics,    ....  215 

"     American  Enterprise,  216 

"     A  merican  Taxation   .217 

Despotism  Unngnieous,  218 

'*  Impeachment  of  Hastings, .  ,  .  .219 
*    P  iteration  against  Hastu^S)  •  •  •  ^ 


Burke,  To  Bristol  Electors,  221 

"     IVftarie  Antoinette,   225 

Byron,  Lord,  Supposed  Address  to  Greets,  151 
"  ■  "  The  Death-penalty,  ....  259 
"  "  Ball  at  Brussels,  .....  433 
"  The  Dying  Gladiator;  .  .  .441 

"        "     Sennacherib,   442 

"        "     Great  Examples,  473 

"        "     Faliero  to  Conspirators,  .  .  477 
"        "     Faliero's  Dying  Speech,  .  .  478 
Caius  Gracchus,  Si)eech  of,  ...  •  ...  116 

Caius  Marius,  Speech  of,  . '  115 

Calhoun,  Prospect  of  War,  321 

"      The  Force  Bill,  .  320 

"       Purse  and  Sword,  .......  321 

"      Liberty  the  Meed,  322 

Campbell,  Hallowed  Ground,  91 

"        Soldier's  Dream,  147 

"       HohenUnden,  153 

"       Song  of  Greeks,  154 

"       Fall  of  Warsaw,  155 

"        To  the  Rainbow,  445 

"        Glenara,  446 

"       Lochiel's  Warning,  483 

Canning,  War  with  France,  246 

"  Bank-notes  and  Coin,  ....  ,  247 
"       Lord  J.  Russell's  Motion,    .  .  .  248 

Tierney's  Motion,  249 

"      Defence  of  Pitt,  25C 

"       Measures,  not  Men,  251 

"       Balance  of  Power,  252 

"       Collision  of  Vices,   253 

Canuleius,  On  the  Patricians,  121 

Carltle,  Justice,  51 

'•■      Nature  a  hard  Creditor,  ....  73 

Cass,  Precedents,  347 

Catiline,  to  his  Army,  t  •  •  l-^' 

"       Last  Harangue,  '.  .  .  Vol 

"  To  the  Gallic  Conspirators,  .  .  .  l;^ 
"      To  his  Friends,  .      ......  482 

"       Defiance  to  the  Senate  480 

Cato,  Soliloquy,  195 

Chalmers,  False  Coloring  lent  to  War,  .  .  67 
Channing,  Distinction  of  a  Nation,  ...  64 

"        Great  Ideas,   88 

Chapin,  Science  friendly  to  Freedom,    .  .  63 

"      True  Source  of  Befonn,  76 

Chateaubriand,  Nature  Proclaims  a  Deity,  92 
Chatham,  Earl  of,  Rei)ly  to  Walpole,  .  .  193 
"         "     "  Reply  to  GrenviUe,    .  198 
"  "     "   Reconciliation,     .  .  .  20f 

"  "  "  Repeal  Claimed,  ...  201 
"  "  "  Lord  Nortli's  Ministry,  LOS 
"  "  "  Employing  Ind  ms,  .  203 
"         "     "  Consequences,     .  .  204 

*  "     "    America,   205 

Child,  Mxs.  L.  M.,  Speech  of  Otis,  ....  £84 

Ohoate,  National  Hatreds,  ....      .  .  24<! 

"      Birthday  of  Washington,  .  .  «» 


in 


INDJSX  TO  NAMES 


OF  AUTHORS,  ETC. 


Page  ) 

CiCKRO,  Catiltie  Denounced,  168 

"      Catiline  Expelled,  169 

"     Verres  Denounced,  170 

Olat,  For  the  War  of  18-13,  315 

«    Jefferson  Defended,  316 

Military  Insubordination,  316 

«  >  Noblest  Public  Virtue,  317 

"    Expunging  Resolution,  318 

"    Independence  of  Greece,  ....  319 

Clemens,  Intervfention,  348 

Clinton,  Foreign  Conquest,  301 

CoBDEN,  American  Vessels,  280 

CoLEK^GE,  The  Good  Great  Man,  ....  87 

^        Charaouny,  467 

«        Translations,  .  .  .    612,  513,  514 
Coi.UNS,  Hov7  Sleep  the  Brave,  .      ...  120 
"      Ode  on  the  Passions,    .  .  .  .  •  448 
OoMBE,  On  the  Exercise  of  Speaking,  ...  36 
JoMPiLATiON,  Religious  Persecution,  .  .  209 
"  Against  Duelling,  .      ...  308 

Conrad,  The  Death  of  Taylor,  454 

Cotton,  To-morrow,  52 

CowPER,  Affectation  in  the  Pulpit,  ....  55 
»      Translations,   .  .  108,  109, 110,  111 
Coyne,  Moses  at  the  Fair,    ...   •  ...  519 
Crittenden,  Government  Extravagance,  .  351 

Croker,  Reply  to  Macaulay,  275 

"      Perils  of  Reform,  275 

CiiOLY,  Death  of  Leouidas,  131 

"  Catiline  to  the  Conspirators,  .  .  .  132 
■"     Catiline's  Last  Harangue,  .  .  .  .  133 

«     The  Cruciflxion,  401 

"  Seventh  Plague  of  Egypt,  ....  403 
*'     The  Greek  and  Turkman,  ....  450 

"     Catiline  to  his  Friends,  480 

"     Catiline's  Defiance,  481 

"     Pride  of  Ancestry,  482 

C^XRAN,  The  Pension  System,  244 

"      Threats  of  Violence,  245 

"       Religious  Distinctions,  246 

"      Liberty  of  the  Press,  353 

"       Mr.  Rowan,  353 

«      Habeas  Corpus  Act,  354 

"      To  Lord  Avonmore,  355 

CtJSHTNQ,  Sectional  Services,  345 

"      Agricultural  Interest,  396 

Delavigne,  Thi-ee  Days  of  Columbus,  .  .  405 

Dbmosthenes,  Against  Philip,  159 

"  Degeneracy  of  Athens,  .  .160 
"\  "         Democracy  Hateful  to  Philip,  161 

"  Venality  the  Ruin  of  Greece,  162 
"         Exordium  on  the  Crown,  .  .  165 

"  Public  Spirit,  166 

"         Not  Vanquished  by  Philip,  .  167 

DkWet,  Nobility  of  Labor,  60 

Dickens,  Speech  of  Buzfuz,  531 

DiMOND,  Sailor-boy's  Dream,  425 

Doddridge,  The  Christian  Life,  470 

pR/.KE,  The  American  Flag,  148 

Bllict,  The  Press,  88 

"      England,  90 

BiiMKT,  On  being  found  Guilty,    .  .  .  j  .  357 

'  England,  The  Duellist,  43 

Erskinb,  Great  Minds  and  Christianity,   .  362 
Everett,  The  Pea«e  Congress  of  the  Union,  42 
"       American  Experiment,    ....  78 
"      Dizzy  Activities  of  the  Times,  .  .  88 

**       Relations  to  England,  386 

**       ureat  Examples,  387 

"       Civilizatii in  of  Africa  .  .  .387 

♦*       Good  of  the  Monument,  ....  388 
•*       Supposed  Indian  Speech,    .  .  .  552 
f  ATET  Man's  Material  Triumphs, ....  45 

haiBLOS  On  Gesture,   ...  .32 

releuLacb  13  to  the  AUied  Chle&i,  113 


Fox,  The  American  War,  ......  231 

Washington's  Foreign  Policy,    .  .  23d 

Liberty  is  StrengU*   237 

Democratic  Governint,ut9,  .....  238 

Partition  of  Poland,  ,  .  239 

Franklin,  On  the  Federal  Constituuan,  .  288 

"       God  Governs,  287 

Fratsinnotjs,  Truth   37 

Galgacos,  Speech  of,   117 

Gaston,  Party  Intemperancs,  302 

Goethe,  Smcerity  the  Soul  of  Eloquence,  .  53 

Grattan,  Irish  Rights,  22S 

"      Reply  to  Flood,  224 

"  -    National  Gratitude,  225 

*'  Catholic  Disqualifications.  .  .  .  226 
"      Heaven  on  the  Side  of  Prir.ciple,  226 

"      Against  Corry,  227 

«  Union  with  Great  Britain,  ...  228 
"      The  Catholic  Question,    ....  229 

"       Religion  Independent,  230 

"      Sectarian  Tyranny,  231 

Greene,  Baron's  Last  Banquet,  420 

Grey,  Lord,  Reform  in  Parliament,  .  .  .  242 
Grimke,  The  Sword,  ..........  92 

Halleck,  Marco  Bozzaris.  156 

Hamilton,  On  Government,  290 

"       The  Federal  Constitution,  ...  291 

Hayne,  Reply  to  Webster,  339 

"     The  South  in  1776,   340 

"     The  South  in  1812,  341 

Heber,  Forgive,  97 

Hector,  His  Rebuke,  109 

"       His  Exploit,  110 

"      Slain,  Ill 

Hemans,  The  Spartans'  March,  119 

"      The  Greeks'  Return,  ......  119 

"      Bernardo  del  Carpio,  411 

"      Casablanca,  •  •  •  412 

"      Rocks  of  my  Country,  .....  413 

"      The  Two  Homes,  413 

"      Invocation,  414 

Henry,  Patrick,  Resistance,  281 

"  "       War  Inevitable,  ....  282 

"  "       Return  of  Fugitives,  .  .  283 

Hitchcock,  Science  Religious,  9» 

Hoffman,  Fulton's  Invention,  344 

Holmes,  Old  Ironsides,  4o9 

"       City  Men  in  the  Country,    ...  558 

Hood,  Art  of  Book-keeping,  533 

Hooker,  Necessity  of  Law,  50 

Homer,  Achilles'  Reply,  10-8 

"     Hector's  Rebuke,  109 

"      Hector's  Exploit,  110 

"     Hector  Slain,  Ill 

Hoyt,  The  World  for  Sale,  452 

HcGHES,  Belshazzar's  Feast,  4C8 

H0GO,  v.,  The  United  States  of  Europe,    .  56 
*'      "  Practical  Religii>us  Instruotioo,  .  186 

"      "  Necessity  of  Religion,  187 

"      "  Universal  Sufifrage,  188 

"      "  Liberty  of  the  Press,  189 

"      "  Repu))lic  or  Monarchy,  ....  190 

"      "  The  Two  Napoleons,  191 

"      "  The  Death-penalty,  371 

"      "  Rome  and  Carthage,  471 

Hunt,  Leigh,  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  93 

»        "     The  Ti-ue  King,  61 

HUSKISSON,  The  Consfrvntive  Innovator,  .  243 

IciLiiis,  On  Virginia's  Scix.me,  118 

Jackson,  ITniim  with  Liberty,  311 

James,  J.  A.,  Inducements  to  Religion,  .  83 
Jefferson,  The  Strongest  Government,  .  297 
Jeffrey,  The  Jixample  of  America,  .  373 
Job,  True  Wisdom,  ...  .  463 
"   A  Nation'*  Strength,    ...  4M 


INDEX  TO  NAMES 


OF  AUTHORS,  ETC. 


Pa.je 

iomsoTS,  Dr,  Fate  of  Charles  XII.,  ...  70 
"  "  The  Wise  Man's  Prayer,  .  .  102 
Johnson,  E.,  The  Water  Drinker,  ....  99 
Johnson,  R.,  Eunjpe's  Struggles,  ....  396 
JONSON,  BiiN,  Catiline  to  his  Army,  .  .  .  122 
Kellogg,  Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators,  .  .  123 
Kennedy,  The  Mecluiuical  Epoch,  ....  41 

Khemnitzer,  Rich  and  Poor,  536 

Sing,  Future  of  tlie  U.  S.,  395 

Biso-WTuEH,  J.  S.,  S!)eech  of  Caius  Gracchus,  116 
"  "  "  Alfred  to  his  Men,  .  .  .  337 
^  u  u  u  Caesar  at  the  Rubicon,  .  .  473 
M  «  "  St.  Pierre  to  Ferrardo,  .  .  487 
"  "  "  Wm.  Tell  on  Svritzerland,  488 
u       u  u  fjyjj  among  the  Mountains,  489 

Knox,  The  Curse  of  Cain,  451 

KORNER,  Battle-liymn,  158 

Kossuth,  Appeal  to  the  Hungarians, .  .  .  377 
"       Contentment  of  Europe,  ....  378 

"       Hungarian  Heroism,  379 

"      In  a  Just  Cause,  379 

"       Peace  inconsistent,  380 

Lamartinb,  Revolutionary  Men,  58 

"        Byron  to  the  Greeks,    ....  151 

"        The  Republic,  185 

Lee,  For  Independence,  285 

Lee,  Nathanikl,  Brutus  and  Titus,    .  .  .  492 

Legake,  The      S.  Constitution,  313 

"      On  Returning  to  the  U.  S.,    ...  314 

Livingston,  Aristocracy,  292 

LiVY,  Scipio  to  his  Array,  103 

"    Hannibal  to  his  Array,  104 

"  Titus  Quintius  to  the  People,  .  .  .  114 
"  Virginius  against  Claudius,  ....  120 
"    Canuleius  against  Patricians,  .  .  .  121 

Logan,  Speech  of,  553 

Longfellow,  Lines,  80 

"         Ex'celsior,  444 

Lover,  Never  Despair,   84 

LowTH,  Translation  from  Isaiah,    ....  464 

LuNT,  The  Ship  of  State,  79 

Lyons,  Triumphs  of  English  Language,  .  .  99 

"     The  Tempest  Stilled,  443 

Lytton,  Sir  E.  B.,  The  Bard's  Summons,  .  135 
"  "  "  "  Caradoc  to  Cymrians,  .  136 
"       "  "  "  Damon  and  Pythias,    .  427 

•ft       «  u  «  f£[^g  Battle,  429 

"  "  "  Richelieu  to  the  King,  .  474 
u       u  u  u  Cromwell  at  Coffin,  .  .  475 
SiACACLAT,  Icilius  on  Virginia's  Seizure,  .  118 

"        Battle  of  Ivry,  143 

"        Irish  Church,  267 

'*        Hours  of  Labor,  268 

*'        Reform  to  Preserve,  269 

"        Men  fit  to  be  Free,  270 

«        Second  Bill  of  Rights,  .  .  .  .  270 
Public  Opinion  and  the  Sword,  271 
"        A  Government  should  Grow,  .  272 

"        Reform  irresistible,  273 

"        Fate  of  Virginia,  432 

"        Horatius  at  the  Bridge,  .  .  .  433 

It^CKAT,  Cleon  and  I,   77 

"  The  Days  thi^t  are  Gone,  ....  100 
Mackintosh,  England  and  America,  .  .  .254 

"  Defence  of  Peltier,  365 

Madison,  Innovations,  302 

Mamsfikld,  Lord,  Present  Popularity, .  .  214 
"  "     Attempts  to  Bias,  ...  364 

SIarttllus,  To  the  People,  126 

Hassillon,  Immortality,  38 

Mathews,  Nothing  in  it,   517 

BlAzziin,  Address  to  Young  Men,    ....  375 

McDuFFiE,  Popular  Elections,  324 

Mt:LEAN,  Moral  Power,  370 

SlEaBDTJ!H,  Frequent  Executions  207 


Par* 

MiCKiEwicz,  The  Moor's  Revenge,  ....  45€ 

Milton,  The  Saviom-'s  Reply,  59 

"      Moloch's  Address,  .....      .  12* 

"      Belial's  Address,  131 

Destruction  of  the  Philistines,  .  .  407 
"      Satan's  Encounter  with  Death,  .  .  408 
"      Hymn  of  our  First  i^arents,  .  .  „  464 
MiRABEAU,  Against  the  Nobles,  &c.,  .  .  .  171 

"        On  Necker's  Plan,  .172 

"        Disobedience  to  the  Assembly)  173 

"        Reply,  174 

"        On  being  Suspected,  175 

"        Eulogium  on  Franklin,  .  .  .  ,177 

"        Church  and  State,  177 

MiTFORD,  Rienzi  to  the  Romans,  138 

Montgomery,  James,  Love  of  Country,  .  .  72 
"  The  (jommon  Lot,  .  7.5 
"       Patriot's  Pass-word,  139 

Moore,  The  Torch  of  Liberty  424 

More,  Duty  to  Country,  •   .  .  486 

Morris,  Judiciary  Act,  299 

"      Free  Navigation,  300 

Morton,  Not  ashamed  of  his  Occupation,  .  504 

Mocntford,  Plea  for  the  Sailor,  385 

Napoleon,  To  tiie  Army  of  Italy,  ....  150 

Natlor,  American  Laborers,  343 

Neelb,  Where  is  he,  ■.  .  .  94 

NiCHOL,  Day  conceals,  44 

Norton,  The  Soldier  from  Bingen,  ....  422 

NoYES,  Translation  from  Job,  561 

"     Translation  —  True  Wisdom,  .  .  .  462 
"     Translation  from  Psalms,    .  .  .   ■  463 
O'Connbll,  Religious  Liberty,    .....  257 
"        Irish  Disturbance  Bill,    .  .  .  25« 

Osgood,  Labor  is  Worship,   61 

Otis,  James,  Supposed  Speech  of,   ...  .  284 

Otway,  PriuU  and  Jaffier,  614 

Palmerston,  Lord,  Civil  War,  265 

Pardoe,  The  Beacon  Light,  77 

Patten,  The  Seminole's  Defiance,  ....  158 

Paul,  Defence,  460 

Peabody,  Moses,  ,50 

Peel,  Legislative  Union,  279 

PiCHAT,  Speech  of  Leonidas,   107 

Pierpont,  Whittling,  537 

PiNKNEY,  Disunion,   304 

Pitt,  American  War  Denounced,  ....  '232 
"  On  the  Censure  of  Ministry,  .  .  .  232 
"  Attempt  to  make  him  Resign,  .  .  233 
"    Barbarism  of  Ancient  Britons,  .  .  234 

Pope,  The  Order  of  Nature,  63 

"    The  Dying  Christian,  ,  469 

Praed,  Charade,  458 

Prentiss,  S.  S.,  Defalcations,  ...         .  342 
"       "  "  Relief  to  Ireland,  .         .  384 
Preston,  Eloquence  and  Logic,  .  ,  ,  S83 

Procter,  Courage,  ■  .  ,  .  456 

PuLTENEY,  Reducing  the  Army,  198 

Pushmataha,  Speech  of,  653 

Ptm,  End  of  Government,  ,192 

QuiNCY,  The  Embargo,  303 

QuiNCY,  J.,  Jr.,  British  Aggressions,  ,  .  883 
Randolph,  E.,  Extent  of  Country,  ...  293 
Randolph,  John,  British  Influence,  ...  304 
"  "     Greek  Question,  ....  306 

"  "     Vkginia  Constitution,  .  307 

Regulus,  Speech  of,   108 

Richard,  To  the  Princes  of  the  Crusauie  140 

Richmond,  To  his  Men,   141 

Rienzi,  To  the  Romans,  ,  .  138 

Robespierre,  Against  War,  ...  18fi 

"         Morality  the  Basis.  ...  181 

"         Last  Speech  183 

Rousseau,  Death,  69 

Rush,  On  the  Voice,  ...      ....     .  V 


ov 


INDEX  TO  NAMES  OF  AUTHORS,  ETU. 


BrsKiN,  TJdlity  )f  the  Beautiful,  39 

BcssELL,  Lord  J.,  Parliaxaent  Reform,  .  .  266 

Ballust,  Caius  Marius,  115 

Schiller,  Damon  and  Pythias,  427 

The  Ba. lie,  429 

"       The  Glove,  431 

"       To  the  Swiss,  508 

Tell  in  Wait  for  Gesler,  ....  609 

"       Tell's  Escape,   .  511 

"       Wallenstein's  Soliloquy, ....  612 

"       Belief  in  Astrology,  513 

"       Grief  of  Bereavement,    ....  514 

llciPio,  to  his  Army,  103 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  Princes  of  Crusade,  .  140 

"      "       "       Lochinvar,  415 

"  "  "  Marmion  taking  Leave,  416 
"  "  "  Death  of  Marmion,  .  .  417 
"  "  "  Death  of  Bertram,  .  .  418 
"      "       "      Loveof  Country,  .  .  .419 

Segur,  De,  Utility  of  History,  56 

Sergeant,  Military  Qualifications,  ....  325 
Shakspeake,  Polonius  to  Laertes,  ....  94 
"         MaruUus  to  the  People,  .  .  .126 
"         Brutus  on  Caesar's  Death,    .  126 

"  Mark  Antony,  127 

"  Richmond  to  his  Men,   .  .  .  141 

"  Henry  V.  to  his  Men,  ...  142 
"  Brutus  and  Cassius,  ....  500 
"  Regrets  of  Drunkenness,  .  .  498 
"         Cassius  instigates  Brutus,    .  500 

«          Cardinal  Wolsey,  501 

"  Hamlet  to  the  Players,  .  .  .  502 
"         Hamlet's  Soliloquy,    ....  503 

Shea,  The  O'Kavanagh,  447 

Shelley,  Peace  and  War,  437 

"  Drones  of  the  Community,  .  .  .  472 
SiiEiL,  Charges  against  Catholics,   ....  260 

"     Irish  Aliens,  261 

"     Irish  Establishment,  262 

"     Repeal  of  Union,  263 

"     England's  Misrule,  264 

"     Colonna  to  the  King,  507 

Sheridan,  Atheistic  Government,   .      .  .  240 

"        Political  Jobbing,  241 

"        People  and  King,  241 

"        Rolla  to  Peruvians,  473 

"        Puff's  Account  of  Himself,    .  .  550 
3HIRLEY,  Death's  Final  Conquest,   ....  58 
SIMMS,  The  Union  and  Government,  .  .  .  507 
BiHTH,  Horace,  Merchant  and  Stranger,  .  543 
"         "       Culprit  and  Judge,    .   •  .  546 
"         "       Jester  Condemned,    .  .  .  547 
"         "       Poet  and  Alchemist,  .  .  .  547 
"         "       Blindman's  Buff,    ....  548 
"         «      Moral  Cosmetics,   ....  554 
"         «      Farmer  and  Counsellor,   .  549 

-  "         "       Death,  655 

"         "      Lachrymose  Writers,    .  .  556 

"         "      The  Sanctuary,  547 

gMiTH,  Sydney,  Taxes,   87 

"  "  Government  Vigor,  .  .  .  874 
"         "      Rejection  of  Reform,  ...  374 

Smith,  W.  R.,  Prosperity,  349 

gouTHEY,  Wat  Tyler  to  the  King,  ....  146 
SfjOTHEY,  Cakoline  B.,  Paupcr's  Death-bed, 554 

8PABTAC03,  To  the  Gladiators,  123 

"         To  Roman  Envoys,  .....  124 

Shkagxte,  Art,  80 

Btselb,  Measure  of  Speech,  .......  18 

Stockton,  Flogging  in  the  Navy,  ....  350 

Story,  Our  Duties,  71 

*TRAifFORi>,  Earl  of,  Defence  193 

IwAiN,  0-e  Story 's  Good,  &c.,  540 


Tacitus,  Speech  of  Galgacua,  .  .  .  lit 
Talfoord,  The  World,  ....  .  41 

"        Charity,   84 

"        Copyright,  27a 

"        Literary  Property,  2T.  * 

"        International  Copyright,  .  .  .  27? 

Taylor,  What  Makes  a  Hero,  66 

"  Van  Artevelde  to  Men  of  Ghent,  .  145 
"  Van  Artevelde's  Defence,  ....  486 
"      Van  den  Bosch  and  Artevelde,    .  526 

Telemachus,  To  the  Allies,  113 

Thomson,  Death  Typified  by  Winter,  .  .  82 

"      Universal  Hj-mn,   465 

Thurlow,  Lord,  Reply,   214 

TiTDS  Quintius,  Speech  of,  114 

ToBiN,  Balthazar  and  the  Quack,          .  .  491 

Tocqdeville,  De,  Democracy,  185 

Trelat,  To  the  Peers,  183 

Uhland,  The  Passage,   ...  455 

Vane,  Against  Richard  Cromwell, ....  196 

Vergniadd,  To  the  French,  178 

"  Ten-orism  of  Jacobins,  .  .  .  179 
Verplanck,  America's  Contributions,  .  .  68 

Virginia,  Ballad  of,  432 

ViRGiNius,  Against  Claudius,  120 

Villemain,  The  Christian  Orator,  ....  64 

Walker,  Rules  of  Inflection,  19 

"      On  Gestm-(3,  33 

"  Failm-e  of  his  Method,  .....  22 
Walpole,  How  to  make  Patriots,  ....  196 

"       Against  Pitt,  197 

Washington,  To  the  Army,  150 

"  France  and  the  U.  S.,  .  .  .  294 
"         Foreign  Influence,    ....  294  ■ 

Wat  Tyler,  Speech  of,  146 

Wayland,  International  Sympathies,  .  .  95 

Webster,  Eloquence  of  Action,  53 

"       Supposed  Speech  of  J.  Adams,  .  288 

"       Opposition,  326 

"       Moral  Force,  327 

"       Sympathy  with  South  America,  328 

"       The  Poor  and  Rich,  329 

"       Sudden  Conversions,  330 

"  Constitution  Platform,  ....  331 
"       Resistance  to  Oppression,  .  .  .  332 

"       Peaceable  Secession,  333 

"       Clay's  Resolutions,  ......  333 

"       Justice  to  the  Whole,  334 

"  Matches  and  over  Matches,"  .  .  335 
"       S.  CaroUna  and  Mass.,  ....  338 

"       Liberty  and  Union,  338 

"  Gviilt  cannot  keep  its  own  Secret,  369 
"       To  Revolutionai-y  Veterans,  .  .  389 

"       State  Obligations,  361 

"       Fourth  of  July,  391 

"       Apostrophe  to  Washii.gton,  .  .  333 
"       Power  of  Public  Opinion,   ...  394 
"       Standard  of  the  Constitution,    .  89Q 
Whately,  Against  Artificial  Elocution,    .  22 

White,  J.  Blanco,  Sonnet,  46 

Wilkes,  Bold  Predictions,  213 

.  "      Conquest  of  Americans,    ....  213 

Wirt,  Instigators  of  Treason,  368 

"    Burr  and  Blennerhassett,  367 

"     Reply  to  Wickham,  368 

Withington,  To-day,  43 

Wolfe,  Gen.,  To  the  Army  before  Quebec,  147 
Wolfe,  Charles,  Defence  of  Poetry,    .  .  89 
"  "       Burial  of  Sir  J.  Moore, .  16J 

Yankee,  To  a  Child,  «7 

YocNG,  Time 's  Midnight  Voice,  74 

"     Frivolous  Pleasures,  9"! 

Yriarte,  The  Monkey  and  Magpie,  .  .  Ul 


STANDARD  SPEAKEH 


INTRODUCTORY  TREATISE. 


I.  ORATORY. 

Oratory,  which  has  its  derivation  from  the  Latin  verb  oro,  signlfyirjg  t« 
plead,  to  beseech,  may  be  defined  the  art  of  producing  persuasion  or  convic- 
tipn  by  means  of  spoken  discourse.  The  word  eloquence,  in  its  primary  sig- 
nification, as  its  etymology  implies,  had  a  single  reference  to  public  speaking  ; 
but  it  is  applied  by  Aristotle,  as  well  as  >'y  modern  writers,  to  compositions  not 
intended  for  public  delivery.  A  similar  extension  of  meaning  has  been 
given  to  the  word  rhetoric,  which,  in  its  etymological  sense,  means  the  art  of 
the  orator,  but  now  comprehends  the  art  of  prose  composition  generally. 

ORATORY  AMONG  THE  AWCIENTS. 

It  is  apparent,  from  the  speeches  attributed  by  Homer  to  the  chiefs  of  the 
Iliad,  as  well  as  by  the  commendations  which  he  bestows  on  Nestor  and 
Ulysses  for  their  eloquence,  that  the  art  of  Oratory  was  early  understood  and 
honored  in  Greece.  But  it  was  not  till  Demosthenes  appea.red  that  Gre- 
cian eloquence  reached  its  perfection.  Demosthenes,  who,  by  the  consent  of 
all  antiquity,  was  the  prince  of  orators,  still  maintains  his  preeminence.  Of 
his  style,  Hume  has  happily  said  :  "  It  is  rapid  harmony,  exactly  adjusted  to 
the  sense  ;  it  is  vehement  reasoning,  without  any  appearance  of  art  ;  it  is 
lisdain,  anger,  boldness,  freedom,  involved  in  a  continued  stream  of  argu- 
ment ;  and  of  all  human  productions,  the  orations  of  Demosthenes  present  to 
is  the  models  which  approach  the  nearest  to  perfection."  It  is  related  of 
this  great  orator,  that,  in  his  first  address  to  the  people,  he  was  laughed  at 
•4nd_  interrupted  by  their  clamors.  He  had  a  weakness  of  voice  and  a  stam- 
cuering  propensity  which  rendered  it  difficult  for  him  to  be  understood.  By 
Immense  labor,  and  an  undaunted  perseverance,  he  overcame  these  defects  , 
md  subsequently,  by  the  spell  of  his  eloquence,  exercised  an  unparalleled  sway 
)ver  that  same  people  who  had  jeered  at  him  when  they  first  heard  him  speak 
in  public.  The  speeches  of  Demosthenes  were  not  extemporaneous.  There  were 
no  writers  of  short-hand  in  his  days  ;  and  what  was  written  could  only  come 
from  the  author  himself. 

After  the  time  of  Demosthenes,  Grecian  eloquence,  which  was  coeval  with 
Grecian  liberty,  declined  with  the  decay  of  the  latter.  In  Rom*-  the  military 
•pirit  80  incompatible  with  a  high  degree  of  civil  freedom,  long  checked  thi 


16 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


growtti  of  that  popular  intelligence  which  is  the  only  Element  in  which  tbi 
noblest  eloquence  is  nurtured.  Rhetoricians  were  baDlsheol  from  the  country 
as  late  as  the  year  of  the  city  592.  A  few  years  subsequent  W  this  period, 
Ihe  study  of  Oratory  was  introduced  from  Athens  ;  and  it  at  length  found  a 
zealous  disciple  and  a  consummate  master  in  Cicero,  whcJe  fame  is  second 
only  to  that  of  his  Athenian  predecessor.  The  main  causes  to  which  the 
extraordinary  perfection  of  ancient  Oratory  is  to  be  ascribed  are  the  great 
pains  bestowed  on  the  education  of  the  young  in  this  most  difficult  art,  and 
the  practice  among  speakers  of  preparing  nearly  all  their  finest  ov(xiov£ 
fcefore  delivery. 


MODERN  ORATORY 

In  modern  times,  Oratory  has  not  been  cultivated  with  so  much  care  «s 
among  the  ancients.  The  diffusion  of  opinions  and  arguments  by  meauy  of 
the  Press  has,  perhaps,  contributed  in  some  degree  to  its  neglect.  A  speakev 
is  now  mainly  known  to  the  public  through  the  Press,  and  it  is  often  more 
important  to  him  to  be  read  than  heard.  Still,  the  power  of  Oratory  m  repub- 
Ucan  countries  must  always  be  immense,  and  the  importance  of  its  cultivation 
must  be  pronortionata  We  see  it  flourish  or  decay  according  to  the  degree 
ef  freedom  among  the  people,  and  it  is  a  bad  sign  for  a  republic  when  Oratory 
is  slighted  or  undervalued.  It  was  not  till  France  began  to  throw  oflt  the 
trammels  of  her  monarchical  system,  that  ehe  produced  a  Mirabeau.  Her 
parliamentary  annals  will  show  that  the  eloquence  of  her  National  Assembly 
Has  been  in  proportion  to  the  predominance  of  the  element  of  constitutior  aJ 
freedom  in  her  government.  ^   a  -  4.u 

The  struggle  against  incipient  despotism  in  England,  which  resulted  m  the 
execution  of  King  Charles  the  First,  was  productive  of  some  great  bursts 
eloquence  from  Vane,  Pym,  Eliot,  and  other  champions  of  popular  rights  ; 
Whose  speeches,  however,  have  been  strangely  slighted  by  the  majority  of 
English  critics.  The  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  illumined  by  thf 
genius  of  Chatham,  Pitt,  Burke,  Fox,  Sheridan,  and  Grattan  ;  all  of  whoM 
were  roused  to  some  of  their  most  brilliant  efforts  by  the  arbitrary  course  of 
government  towards  our  ancestors  of  the  American  colonies.  Ireland  is  well 
represented  in  this  immortal  list.   Her  sons  have  ever  displayed  a  true  gemua 

^"^Thefittle*  opportunity  afforded  for  the  cultivation  of  forensic  or  senatorial 
eloquence  by  the  different  governments  of  Germany  has  almost  entirely 
checked  its  growth  in  that  country  ;  and  we  may  say  the  same  of  Italy,  bpam 
and  Portucral,  and  most  of  the  other  countrie?  of  Europe.  To  the  pulpit 
Oratory  of  France,  the  illustrious  names  of  Bossuet,  Bourdaloue  and  MassiUon, 
have  given  enduring  celebrity  ;  and  in  forensic  and  senatorial  eloquence, 
France  has  not  been  surpassed  by  any  modern  nation.  But  it  is  only  in  her 
intervals  of  freedom  that  her  senatorial  eloquence  reaches  . its  high  note. 

The  growth  of  eloquence  in  the  United  States  has  been  such  as  to  inspire  th« 
hope  that  the  highest  triumphs  of  Oratory  are  here  to  be  achieved  Already 
we  have  produced  at  least  two  orators,  Patrick  Henry  and  Daniel  Webster,  to 

horn  none,  since  Demosthenes,  in  the  authority,  majesty  and  amplitude,  of 
i.ieir  eloquence,  can  be  pronounced  superior.  In  proportion  to  the  extent  of 
our  cultivation  of  Oratory  as  an  art  worthy  our  entire  devotion,  must  be  our 
Buocess  in  enriching  it  with  new  and  precious  contributions.  And  ot  tne 
tw  wer  of  a  noble  Oratory,  beyond  its  immediate  circle  of  hearers,  who  can 
doubt '  "  Who  doubts  ? "  asks  Mr.  Webster,  "  that,  in  our  own  struggle  for 
freedom  and  independence,  the  majestic  eloquence  of  Chatham,  the  protound 
reasoning  of  Burke,  the  burning  satire  and  irony  of  Bai-re,  had  influence  on 
our  fortunes  in  America  ?  They  tended  to  diminish  the  confidence  of  the 
British  ministry  in  their  hopes  to  subject  us.  There  was  not  a  reading  man 
Who  did  not  struggle  roore  boldly  for  his  rights  when  thoiw  exhilaratrnfi 


ELOCUTION. 


sonncli,  attsrcd  in  the  two  houses  of  Parliament,  reached  him  from  across  tht 
jeas." 


SUCCESS  IN  ORATORY. 

For  the  attainment  of  the  highest  and  most  beneficent  triumphs  of  th» 
orator,  no  degree  of  labor  can  be  regarded  as  idly  bestowed.  Attention, 
energy -of  will,  daily  practice,  are  indispensable  to  success  in  this  high  art 
The  author  of  "  Self-Formation  "  remarks  :  "  Suppose  a  man,  by  dint  of  med 
itation  on  Oratory,  and  by  his  consequent  conviction  of  its  importance,  to 
have  wrought  himself  up  to  an  energy  of  will  respecting  it,  —  this  is  the  life 
and  soul  of  his  enterprise.  To  carry  this  energy  into  act,  he  should  begin 
VTith  a  few  sentences  from  any  speech  or  sermon  ;  he  should  commit  them 
thoroughly,  work  their  spirit  into  his  mind,  and  then  proceed  to  evolve  that 
spirit  by  recitation.  Let  him  assume  the  person  of  the  original  speaker,  —  put 
himself  in  his  place,  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  Let  him  utter  everv  sen- 
tence, and  every  considerable  member  of  it,— if  it  be  a  jointed  one,— distinctly, 
sustainedly,  and  unrespiringly  ;  suiting,  of  course,  everywhere  his  tone  and 
emphasis  to  the  spirit  of  the  composition.  Let  him  do  this  till  the  exercise  shall 
have  become  a  habit,  as  it  were,  a  second  nature,  till  it  shall  seem  unnatural 
to  him  to  do  otherwise,  and  he  will  then  have  laid  his  corner-stone." 

Quintilian  tells  us  that  it  is  the  good  man  only  who  can  become  a  great 
orator.  Eloquence,  the  selectest  boon  which  Heaven  has  bestowed  on  man, 
can  never  ally  itself,  in  its  highest  moods,  with  vice.  The  speaker  must  be 
himself  thoroughly  sincere,  in  order  to  produce  a  conviction  of  his  sincerity  in 
the  minds  of  others.  His  own  sympathies  must  be  warm  and  genial,  if  he 
would  reach  and  quicken  those  of  his  hearers.  Would  he  denounce  oppres- 
sion '  His  owfi  heart  must  be  free  from  every  quality  that  contributes  to 
make  the  tyrant.  Would  he  invoke  mercy  in  behalf  of  a  client  ?  He  must 
a:.mself  be  humane,  generous  and  forgiving.  Would  he  lash  the  guilty  ?  His 
own  life  and  character  must  present  no  weak  points,  to  which  the  guilty  may 
point  m  derision.  And  not  only  the  great  orator,  but  the  pupil  who  would 
fittingly  interpret  the  great  orator,  and  declaim  what  has  fallen  from  hib  lips, 
must  aim  at  similar  qualifications  of  mind  and  heart. 


DIVISIONS  OF  ORATORY. 

The  Greeks  divided  discourses  according  to  their  contents,  as  relating  to 
precept,  manners,  and  feelings  ;  and  as  therefore  intended  to  instruct,  to 
please  and  to  move.  But,  as  various  styles  may  oftentimes  be  introduced  into 
the  same  discourse,  it  is  difficult  to  make  a  strictly  accurate  classification, 
ihe  modern  division,  into  the  eloquence  of  the  Pulpit,  the  Bar,  and  the  Senate, 
18  hardly  more  convenient  and  comprehensive. 

Oratory  comprehends  the  four  following  divisions  :  invention,  disposition, 
Blocu^wn,  and  delivery.  The  first  has  reference  to  the  character  of  the  sen- 
timents employed  ;  the  second,  to  their  arrangement,  and  the  diction  in  which 
t'^i^^^  clothed  ;  the  third  and  fourth,  to  the  utterance  and  action  witfe 
^h\^h  they  are  communicated  to  the  hearer.  It  is  the  province  of  rhetoric  to 
pve  rules  for  the  invention  and  disposition  of  a  discourse.  It  is  with  tha 
-attor  two  divisions  of  Oratory  that  we  have  to  deal  in  the  present  treatise 

11.  ELOCUTION. 

Elocution  is  that  pronunciation  which  is  given  to  words  when  they  are 
wrranged  into  sentences,  and  form  discourse    It  includes  the  tones  of  voice, 
the  utterance,  and  enunciation  of  the  speaker,  with  the  proper  accorapani. 
ments  of  countenance  and  gesture.    The  art  of  elocution  may  therefore 
2 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


iefined  to  be  that  system  of  rules  wliieh  teaches  us  to  pronounce  written  oi 
Bxtemporaiieous  composition  with  justness,  energy,  variety  and  ease  ;  an'l, 
agreeably  to  this  definition,  good  reading  or  speaking  may  be  considered  aa 
that  species  of  delivery  which  not  only  expresses  the  sense  of  the  words  so  as 
to  be  tarely  understood,  but  at  the  same  time  gives  them  all  the  fcrc«,  be&atjr 
»ttd  \ariety,  of  which  they  are  susceptible. 

'  ELOCUTION  AMONG   THE  ANCIENTS, 

fhi  Greeks  and  Romans  paid  great  attention  to  the  study  of  elocutioa. 
f  hey  distinguished  the  different  qualities  of  the  voice  by  such  terms  as  hard, 
smooth,  sharp,  clear,  hoarse,  full,  slender,  flowing,  flexible,  shrill,  and  rigid. 
They  were  sensible  to  the  alternations  of  heavy  and  light  in  syllabic  utter- 
ance ;  they  knew  the  time  of  the  voice,  and  regarded  its  quantities  in  pronun- 
ciation ;  they  gave  to  loud  and  soft  appropriate  places  in  speech  ;  they  per- 
ceived the  existence  of  pitch,  or  variation  of  high  and  low  ;  and  noted  further 
that  the  rise  and  Ml  in  the  pronunciation  of  individual  syllables  are  made  by 
a  concrete  or  continuous  slide  of  the  voice,  as  distinguished  from  the  dUcrete 
notes  produced  on  musical  instruments.  They  designated  the  pitch  of  vocal 
sounds  by  the  term  accent ;  making  three  kinds  of  accents,  the  acute  (') ,  the 
grave  C),  and  the  circumflex('),  which  signified  severally  the  rise,  the  fall, 
And  the  turn  of  the  voice,  or  union  of  acute  and  grave  on  the  same  syllable. 


MODERN  THEORIES  OF  ELOCUTION.  THE  MEASURE  OP  SPEECH. 

For  the  modern  additions  to  elocutionary  analysis,  we  are  indebted  oainly 
to  the  labors  of  Steele,  Walker,  and  Dr.  James  Rush  of  Philadelphia. 

The  measure  of  speech  is  elaborately  explained  by  Up  Steele,  in  his  "  Pros- 
odia  Rationalis."  According  to  his  analysis,  measure,  as  applied  to  speech, 
consists  of  a  heavy  or  accented  portion  of  syllabic  sound,  and  of  a  light_  or 
unaccented  portion,  produced  by  one  effort  of  the  human  voice.  In  forming 
the  heavy  or  accented  syllable,  the  organs  make  a  stroke  or  beat,  and,  however 
instantaneous,  are  placed  in  a  certain  position,  from  which  they  must  be  removed 
before  they  make  another  stroke.  Thus,  in  the  repetition  of  fast,  fast,  there 
must  be  two  distinct  pulsations  ;  and  a  pause  must  occur  betwixt  the  two,  to 
enable  the  organs  to  recover  their  position.  But  the  time  of  this  pause  may 
be  filled  up  with  a  light  syllable,  or  one  under  remission  ;  thus,  faster,  faster, 
occupy  the  same  time  in  the  pronunciation  as  fast,  fast.  This  remiss  or  light 
action  of  the  voice  may  extend  to  two  and  three  syllables,  as  in  circumstance, 
infinitely,  &c.  The  stroke  or  pulsative  effort  of  the  voice,  then,  can  only  U 
on  one  syllable  ;  the  remission  of  the  voice  can  give  several  syllables  after  the 
pulsation.  Tliis  pupation  and  remission  have  been  illustrated  by  the  plant- 
ing and  raising  of  the  foot  in  walking  ;  hence  the  Thesis  and  Arsis  of  the 
Greeks.  The  first  is  the  pulsative,  the  second  the  remiss  action.  Now,  apart 
from  the  pauses  of  passion  and  connection,  there  must  be  frequent  pauses 
arising  from  the  nature  of  the  organs  of  speech  ;  these  are  denoted  in  exam- 
ples marked,  according  to  Steele's  system,  by  the  figure  ^  ,  and  the  pulsatm 
and  remiss  syllables  by  •.•  and  ...  It  has  been  said  that  the  pulsative  effort 
ean  be  made  only  on  one  syllable  ;  if  the  syllable  have  extended  quantity,  if 
may  be  pronounced  both  with  the  pulsative  effort  and  die  away  in  the  rernis- 
Pion  ;  but  if  it  is  short  in  quantity,  a  pause  must  occur  before  the  pronun. 
jlation  of  the  next  syllable.  One  syllable,  then,  may  occupy  what  is  called 
a  measure,  the  voice  being  either  prolonged,  or  the  time  being  made  up  with 
a  pause.  This  pause,  as  already  remarked,  is  denoted  by  the  figure  [;  a 
repetition  of  the  same  figure  is  used  to  denote  the  longer  pauses,  which  are 
determined  by  passion,  or  the  intimacy  and  remoteness  of  the  sense.  ^  Steele'* 
•ysiem  has  been  adopted  by  several  teachers  of  elocution  ;  by  Mr  (Ihapnian 


ELEMENTS  OF  ELOCUTION. 


iRi  his  Rhythmical  Grammar,  and  by  Mr.  Barber,  iu  his  Grammar  of  Eloca 
don    The  following  lines  are  marked  according  to  Mr.  Steele's  plan 

Arms  and  the  |  man  I  |  sing  |  |  who*^  |  forced  by  |  fate. 

Hail  I  noly  |  light     |  offspring  of  |  Heaven  |  first     \  bom.  | 

"WALKEK'3  ELEMENTS  OF  ELOCUTION.  INFLECTIONS  OF  THE  VOICB. 

Towards  tl*e  close  of  the  last  century,  Mr.  John  Walker,  author  of  the  excel- 
^J^t  "  Critical  Pronouncing  Dictionary-'  which  bears  his  name,  promulgate 
&!S  analysis  of  vocal  indection.  He  showed  that  the  primary  division  of  speak- 
ing sounds  is  into  the  upward  and  downward  slide  of  the  voice  ;  and,  that  what- 
ever  other  diversity  of  time,  tone  or  force,  is  added  to  speaking,  it  mus! 
necessarily  be  conveyed  by  these  two  slides  or  inflections,  whicli  are,  there- 
fore, the  axis,  as  it  were,  on  which  the  power,  variety,  and  harmony  of  speak- 
ing turn.  In  the  following  sentence:  —  "As  trees  and  plants  necessarily 
arise  from  seeds,  so  are  you,  Antony,  the  seed  of  this  most  calamitous  war," 
—  the  voice  slides  up  at  the  end  of  the  first  clause,  as  the  sense  is  not  per- 
fected, and  slides  down  at  the  completion  of  the  sense  at  the  end  of  the  sen 
tence.  The  rising  slide  raises  expectancy  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  and  the 
ear  remains  unsatisfied  without  a  cadence.  Walker  adopted  the  acute  accent 
(')  to  denote  the  rising  inflection,  and  the  grave  accent  to  denote  the  fall- 
ing  inflection  ;  as  thus — 

Does  Cassar  deserve  fkme'  or  blame^  1 

Lvery  pause,  of  whatever  kind,  must  necessarily  adopt  one  of  tnese  two 
inflections,  or  continue  in  a  monotone.  Thus,  when  we  ask  a  question  without 
the  contrasted  interrogative  words,  we  naturally  adopt  the  rising  inflection  on 
the  last  word  ;  as, 

Can  Cassar  deserve  blame'  1   Impossible' ! 

Bere  blame  — the  last  word  of  the  question  —  has  the  rising  inflection,  con 
trary  to  the  inflection  on  tliat  word  in  the  former  instance  ;  and  impossible, 
with  the  note  of  admiration,  the  falling.  Besides  the  rising  and  falling  inflec- 
tion. Walker  gives  the  voice  two  complete  sounds,  which  he  terms  circumjlexes  : 
the  first,  which  he  denominates  the  rising  circumf.e.x,  begins  with  the  falling 
and  ends  with  the  rising  on  the  same  syllable  :  the  second  begins  with  the 
rising  and  ends  with  the  falling  on  the  same  syllable.  The  )  ising  circum- 
flex IS  marked  thus,      the  falling,  thus,  '\    The  monotone,  thus  marked, 

 »  denotes  that  there  is  no  inflection,  and  no  change  of  key. 

Having  explained  the  inflections.  Walker  proceeds  to  deduce  the  law  of 
dehvery  from  the  structure  of  sentences,  which  he  divides  into  compact,  looxe, 
direct  periods,  inverted  periods,  &c.  By  the  term  series,  ho  denotes  aa 
enumeration  of  particulars.  If  the  enumeration  consists  of  single  wonis,  it 
IS  called  a  simple  series ;  if  it  consists  of  clauses,  it  is  called  a  coinpouni 
tertes.  When  the  sense  requires  that  there  should  be  a  rising  slide  on  tlifi 
mt  particular,  the  series  is  called  a  commencing  series ;  and  when  the  eerieg 
requires  the  falling  slide  on  the  last  oarticular,  it  is  termed  a  concludinA 
uriei  The  simple  commencing  series  is  illustrated  in  the  following  sentea^e 
sa-ping  two  (1'  2')  members  :  — 

"  Honor'  and  shame'  from  no  condition  rise." 

Jhe  simple  roncluding  series  is  illustrated  in  the  following  sentence  of  foiu 
(V  2  8  4*  )  members-  —  "Remember  that  virtue  alone  is  bmor',  glorr 
wealth ,  and  happiness  " 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Among  the  Euies  laid  down  by  Walker  and  his  followers  are  the  following, 
which  we  select  as  the  most  simpi'e.  The  pupil  must  do^  take  them,  kowever 
an  infallible  guide.  Some  are  obvious  enough  ;  but  to  others  tb®  excep. 
tions  are  numerous,  —  so  numerous,  indeed,  that  they  vonid  be  a  burtliensom€ 
charge  to  the  memory.  The  Rules,  however,  may  b<3  serviceable  in  cases 
where  the  reader  desires  another's  judgment  in  regard  to  the  inflection  of 
voice  that  is  most  appropriate  . 

Rule  I.  When  the  sense  is  finished,  the  falling  inJUction  takes  place  as, 
"  Nothing  valuable  can  be  gained  without  labor\" 

II.  In  a  compact  sentence,  the  voice  slides  up  where  the  mean  ing  begim 
ta  be  formed ;  as,  "  Such  is  the  course  of  nature',  that  whoever  lives  long, 
must  outlive  those  whom  he  loves  and  honors." 

There  are  many  exceptions  to  this  rule.  For  instance,  when  a,n  emphatic 
woM  is  contained  in  the  first  part  of  the  compact  sentence,  the  filling  inflec- 
tion takes  place  ;  as,  "  He  is  a  traitor  to  his  country\  he  is  a  t.-aitor  to  the 
human  kind',  he  is  a  traitor  to  Heaven\  who  abuses  the  talen:s  which  God 
has  given  him." 

III.  In  a  loose  sentence,  the  falling  inflexion  is  required ;  as,  "It  is  of 
the  last  importance  to  season  the  passions  of  a  child  with  devo"'tion  ;  which 
seldom  dies  in  a  mind  that  has  received  an  early  tincture  of  it" 

IV.  In  a  compound  commencing  series,  the  falling  inflection  takes  plact 
on  every  member  but  the  last ;  as,  "  Our  disordered  Ji9arts\  our  guilty  pas- 
sions\  our  violent  prejudices^  and  misplaced  desires',  ai^  the  instruments  of 
the  trouble  which  we  endure." 

V.  In  a  compound  concluding  series,  the  falling  infection  takes  place  on 
every  member  except  the  one  before  the  last;  as,  "  Chi'icer  most  frequently 
describes  things  as  they  are^  ;  Spenser,  as  we  wish^  thfi.!  to  be  ;  Shakspeare, 
as  they  would'  be  ;  and  Milton,  as  they  ought^  to  be." 

VI.  In  a  series  of  commencing  members  forming  a  crmax,  the  last  mem- 
ber, being  strongly  emphatic,  takes  a  fall  instead  of  a  ri^e  ;  as,  *'  A  youth\  a 
bp/,  a  child\  might  understand  it." 

VII.  Literal  interrogations  asked  by  pronouns  or  adverbs  {or  questions 
requiring  an  iminediaie  answer)  end  with  the  falling  inflection ;  as, 
"  Where  are  you  going^  ?  What  is  your  name^  ?  "  Questions  asked  by  verbs 
require  the  rising  inflection,  when  a  literal  question  is  asked  ;  as,  "  Are  you 
coming'  ?    Do  you  hear'  ?  " 

To  these  rules  the  exceptions  are  numerous,  however.  Emphasis  breaks 
through  them  continually  ;  as, 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  wooed'  1 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  won^  1 

VIII.  The  inflection  which  terminates  an  exclamation  is  regulated  by  the 
common  rules  of  inflection.  This  rule  is,  of  course,  broken  through  by  pas- 
tion,  which  has  slides  and  notes  of  its  own.  As  a  general  rule,  it  may  be 
stated  that  exclamations  of  surprise  and  indignation  take  a  rising  slide  in 
a  loud  tone  ;  those  of  sorrow,  distress,  pity  and  love,  the  rising  slide  in  a 
gentle  tone ;  and  those  of  adoration,  awe  and  despair,  the  falling  infleZ' 
lion. 

IX.  A7iy  intermediate  clause  affecting  the  sen  e  of  the  sentence  {genera!!^ 
termed  the  modifying  clause)  is  pronounced  ir  a  different  key  from  that  iii 
which  the  rest  of  the  sentence  is  spoken.  As  th  intermediate  words  are  fre- 
quently Lfie  pivot  on  which  the  sense  of  the  entence  turns,  the  mind  iu 
directed  to  it  by  a  change  of  voice.  The  voict  finks  at  the  beginning  tf  thf, 
clause,  but  rises  gradually  towards  the  conclus  m ;  as,  "  Age,  in  a  virtuous' 
person,  carries  in  it  an  authority  which  makes  it  preferable  to  all  the  plee* 
lares  of  youth." 

X.  The  Parenthesis  is  an  intermediate  clause,  not  necessary  the  aense 
a  it  pronounced  in  a  different  key  from  that  in  which  the  sentence  it  prv 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HUMAN  VOICE. 


21 


nouneed,  in  order  to  distinguish  it  from  the  body  of  the  sentence  ^  and  it  is 
pronounced  more  quickly,  thai  the  hearer  may  not  be  diverted  by  it  into  tor- 
getting  the  ^connection  of  the.  sentence.  It  generally  terminates  with  the 
injlection  of  the  claii.se  preceding  it.  When  it  contai7t,s  a  strongly  emphdUc 
VDora^  the  falling  inflection  is  necessary  : 

Let  us  (since  life  can  little  more  sup^,.^ 
Than  just  to  look  about  us  and  to  die)  " 
Expatiate  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  man ; 
A  mighty  maze  !  but  not  without  a  plan. 

XI.  An  echo,  or  the  repetition  of  a  word  or  thought  introductoi  y  to  si  im 
particulars,  requires  the  high  rising  inflection,  and  a  long  paxise  after  it. 
This  is  frequently  the  language  of  excitement;  the  mind  recurs  to  the  excit- 
ing idea,  a7id  acquires  fresh  intensity  from  the  repetition  of  it ;  as,  "  Can 
Parliament  be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  duty  as  to  give  its  sanction  to 
measures  thus  obtruded  and  forced  upon  it  ?  —  Measures',  my  Lords,  wluch 
have  reduced  this  late  flourishing  Kingdom  to  scorn  and  contempt." 

XII.  When  words  are  in  contradistinction  to  other  words,  either  expressed 
or  understood,  they  are  pronounced  with  einphatic  force ,  when  the  contra 
distinction  is  not  expressed,  the  emphasis  must  be  strong,  so  as  to  suggest 
the  word  in  contradistinction ;  as,  "  How  beautiful  is  nature  in  her  wildest* 
scenes  !  "  That  is,  not  merely  in  her  soft  scenes,  but  even  in  her  wildest 
scenes.    "  It  is  deplorable  when  age'  thus  errs."   Not  merely  youth,  bat  age. 

XIJI^  J[  climax  must  be  read  or  pronounced  with  the  voice  progressively 
ascend'  g  to  the  last  member  •  accompanied  with  the  increasing  eiiergy^  ani 
fixation,  r  pathos,  corresponding  with  the  nature  of  the  subject. 

See,  what  a  gi-ace  was  seated  on  this  brow  ! 
Hyperion's  curls';  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  JMars',  to  threaten  and  command'; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury", 
New  lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hilP; 
A  combination'  and  a  form'  indeed, 
Where  every  god'  did  seem  to  set  his  seal". 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man\ 

rush's  philosophy  of  THE  HUMAN  VOICB. 

I>r.  Rush,  whose  "Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice"  presents  the  moat 
mixmiQ  and  scientific  analysis  of  the  subject  that  has  yet  appeared,  adopts  an 
arrangement  of  the  elementary  sounds  of  our  language  into  tonics  subtonics 
atonies  and  aspirates.  He  distinguishes  the  qualities  of  the  voice  under  the 
following  heads  :  the  Orotund,  which  is  fuller  in  volume  than  the  common 
voice  ;  the  Tremor  ;  the  Aspiration  ;  the  Guttural  ;  the  Falsette  ;  and  thQ 
Whisper.  The  complex  movement  of  the  voice  occasioned  by  the  union  of 
the  rismg  and  fallmg  slides  on  the  same  long  syllable  he  calls  a  wave.  Ifc 
IS  termed  by  Steele  and  Walker  the  circumflex  accent.  Dr.  Rush  illustraief 
the  slides  of_  the  voice  by  reference  to  the  Diatonic  scale,  consisting  of  a  sue 
cession  of  eight  sounds,  either  in  an  ascending  or  descending  series  and 
limbrju-,mg  seven  proximate  intervals,  five  of  which  are  Tones,  and  two  8omi» 
Sones  Each  sound  is  called  a  Note  ;  and  the  changes  of  pitch  from  any  one 
cote  to  another  are  either  Discrete  or  Concrete,  and  may  be  either  rising  cr 
falling.  Concrete  changes  of  Pitch  are  called  slides  ;  and  of  these  movements 
there  are  appropriated  to  speech  the  slides  through  five  different  intervals,  — 
the  Semitone,  the  Second,  the  Third,  the  Fifth,  and  the  Octave.  By  a  carefal 
analysis  of  the  speaking  voice,  Dr.  Rush  shows  that  its  movements  can  be 
measured  and  set  to  the  musical  scale  ;  and  that,  however  various  the  combi- 
nations of  thQm  vocal  movements  may  at  first  a-ppear,  they  may  readily  be 


82 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER^ 


redAced  to  six,  oaDcd  Phrases  of  Melody.  These  are  the  Monoto.*e,  the  Ri8in| 
and  Falling  Ditone,  the  Rising  and  Falling  Tritone,  and  the  Alternate  Phrase. 
By  a  more  careful  analysis,  we  ascertain  that  some  of  the  simpler  styles  of 
delivery  take  their  character  from  the  predominance  of  some  one  of  these  piu*a«eB 
of  melody.  Thus  we  have  the  Diatonic  Melody,  the  Melody  of  the  Monotone,  c-f 
the  Alternate  Phrase,  and  of  the  Cadence  ;  and  to  these  are  added  the  Chro 
matic  Melody  which  arises  from  the  predominance  of  the  Semitone,  and  the 
Brsken  Melody. 

INSUFFICIENCY  OF  ARBITRARY  SYSTEMS  OF  ELOCUTION. 

it  would  be  impossible,  in  the  space  we  have  given  to  the  subject,  to  do  just- 
ice to  any  one  of  these  ingenious  analyses;  and  it  would  be  quite  unprofitable 
to  enumerate  the  many  systems  that  have  been  deduced  from  them  up  to  th« 
present  time.  The  important  question  is.  Do  they  establish,  severally  or  collect- 
ively, a  positive  science  of  elocution,  which  will  justify  the  pupil  in  laboring 
to  master  it  in  its  details,  and  to  accomplish  himself  according  to  its  rules  of 
practice?  We  believe  there  are  very  few  students,  who  have  given  much 
time  and  attention  to  the  subject,  who  will  not  render  a  negative  reply.  The 
shades  of  expression  in  language  are  often  so  delicate  and  undistinguishable, 
that  intonation  will  inevitably  vary  according  to  the  temperament  of  the 
speaker,  his  appreciation  of  the  sense,  and  the  intensity  with  which  he  enteis 
into  the'  spirit  of  what  he  utters.  It  is  impossible  to  establish  rules  of  mathe- 
matical precision  for  utterance,  any  more  than  for  dancing.  Take  the  first  line 
of  Mark  Antony's  harangue  : 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears  ! 

An  ingenious  speaker  will  give,  at  one  time,  the  falling  inflection,  and  at 
another  the  rising,  to  the  word  countrymen;  and  both  modes  shall  seem 
equally  expressive  and  appropriate.  Nay,  he  will  at  one  moment  place  the 
chief  stress  upon  lend,  and  the  next  upon  ears  ;  and  he  will  make  either  mode 
of  rendering  the  verse  appear  appropriate  and  expressive.  We  do  not  deny 
that  there  are  passages  in  regard  to  which  there  can  be  little  doubt  as  to  the 
inflection  and  emphasis  to  be  employed;  but  these  are  precisely  the  passages 
in  reference  to  which  rules  are  not  needed,  so  obvious  is  the  sense  to  every 
intelligent  reader,  and  so  unerringly  does  nature  guide  us. 

"  Probably  not  a  single  instance,"  says  Archbishop  Whately,  "  could  be 
found,  of  any  one  who  has  attained,  by  the  study  of  any  system  of  instruction 
that  has  appeared,  a  really  good  delivery;  but  there  are  many  —  probably 
nearly  as  many  as  have  fully  tried  the  experiment  —  who  have  by  this  means 
been  totally  spoiled."  There  is  one  principle,  he  says,  radically  erroneous, 
which  must  vitiate  every  system  founded  on  it,  —  the  principle,  ^' that,  in 
order  to  acquire  the  best  style  of  delivery,  it  is  requisite  to  study  analyti- 
cally the  emphasis,  tones,  pauses,  degrees  of  loudness,  fyc,  which  give  the 
proper  etfect  to  each  passage  that  is  well  delis'ered;  to  frame  Rules  founded  on 
the  obwervation  of  these;  and  then,  in  practice,  deliberately  and  carefully  to 
conform  the  utterance  to  these  rules,  so  as  to  form  a  complete  artificial  system 
of  Elocution."  "To  the  adoption  of  any  such  artificial  scheme  there  ar« 
three  weighty  objections  :  first,  that  the  proposed  system  must  necessarily  b« 
ivipe  rfect ;  secondly,  that  if  it  were  perfect,  it  would  be  a  circuitous  path  to 
the  object  in  view;  and  thirdly,  that  even  if  both  these  objections  were 
removed,  the  object  would  not  be  effectually  obtained." 

The  first  of  those  objections,  which  is  not  denied  by  the  most  strenuciM 
flidvocates  of  the  artificial  systems,  would  seem  to  be  all-sufficient.  Any  number 
of  Rules  must  needs  leave  the  subject  incomplete,  inasmuch  as  the  analysis  of 
sentences,  in  their  structure,  and  their  relations  to  vocal  inflection,  may  ba 
Cftrned  to  almost  any  extent.  Few  Rules  can  be  laid  down  to  which  many 
ouforeseen  exceptions  cannot  be  made.    Mr.  Walker,  in  his  "  Rhetor-oal 


ARBITRA.iY  SYSTEMS  OF  ELOCDTi-^N. 


2h 


Grammar/ *  pnbLshed  some  years  after  his  "  Elements  of  EiUicnth^:  had 
been  before  ;he  public,  admits  the  practical  failure  of  the  systemd  foui  '  t»i  on 
his  amilysis.  "The  sanguine  expectations  I  had  once  entertained,"  ha  days, 
that  this  Analysis  of  the  Human  Voice  would  be  received  by  the  learned 
with  avidity,  are  now  over."  And,  his  imagination  kindling  at  a  ray  of  hope, 
he  adds  :  "  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  active  genius  of  the  French,  who  ar« 
■0  remarkably  attentive  to  their  language,  may  first  adopt  this  vehicle"  of 
inatruction  in  reading  and  speaking.  But  more  than  forty  years  have  passed 
iiace  this  suggestion  was  thrown  out;  and  the  French,  so  quick  to  adopf 
improvements  based  on  scientific  analysis,  have  been  as  backw^ard  as  Walker's 
awn  countrymen  in  applying  to  practical  uses  his  discovery.  But  although 
Ike  Science  of  Europe  has  weighed  these  artificial  systems  in  the  balance,  and 
found  them  wanting  for  practical  purposes  of  instruction,  the  hope  seems  to 
be  entertained  that  Young  America  will  not  yet  a  while  concur  in  the  judg 
ment. 

"It  is  surely  a  circuitous  path,"  says  Archbishop  Whately,  "when  the 
learner  is  directed  first  to  consider  how  each  passage  ought  to  be  read  (that 
is,  what  mode  of  delivering  each  part  of  it  would  spontajieously  occur  to  him, 
if  he  were  attending  exclusively  to  the  matter  of  it) ;  then  to  observe  all  the 
nodulatious,  &c.,  of  voice,  which  take  place  in  such  a  delivery;  then  to  note 
these  down,  by  established  marks,  in  writing  ;  and,  lastly,  to  pronounce 
according  to  these  marks."  "  Such  instruction  is  like  that  bestowed  by 
Moliere's  pedantic  tutor  upon  his  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme,  who  was  taught, 
to  his  infinite  surprise  and  delight,  what  configuratioutS  of  the  mouth  he 
employed  in  pronouncing  the  several  letters'of  the  alphabet,  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  utter,  all  his  life,  without  knowing  how." 

The  labors  of  Steele,  Walker  and  Rush,  are  important,  and  their  analyses 
of  vocal  expression  may  always  be  studied  with  profit.  But  the  attempt  to 
egtablish  a  practical  system  of  elocutionavy  rules,  which  may  be  a  consistent 
and  reliable  guide  to  the  pupil  in  reading  aloud  and  in  declamation,  has  been 
eontinually  baffled.  The  subject  is  not  one  that,  in  its  nature,  admits  of  a 
resolution  into  rigid  analytical  rules.  Thought  and  language  being  as  various 
as  the  minds  of  men,  the  inflections  of  the  human  voice  must  partake  of  their 
plastic  quality;  and  passion  and  genuine  emotion  must  break  through  all  the 
rules  which  theorists  can  frame.  Anatomy  is  a  curious  and  a  profitable 
study;  but  what  if  we  were  to  tell  ^he  pugilist  that,  in  order  to  give  a  blow 
with  due  effect,  he  ought  to  know  how  the  muscles  depend  for  their  powers 
of  contraction  and  relaxation  on  the  nerves,  and  how  the  nerves  issue 
from  the  brain  and  the  spinal  marrow,  with  similar  facts,  requiring,  per- 
haps, a  lifetime  of  study  for  their  proper  comprehension, — would  he  not 
laugh  at  us  for  our  advice  ?  And  yet,  even  more  unreasonable  is  it  to  say, 
that,  to  accomplish  ourselves  in  reading  and  speaking,  we  must  be  able  tc 
classify  a  sentence  under  the  head  of  "  loose"  or  "  compact,"  and  their  sub. 
divisions,  and  then  to  glibly  enunciate  it  according  to  some  arbitrary  rule,  to 
which,  the  probability  is,  there  are  many  unsurmised  exceptions.  Whea 
Edmund  Keau  thrilled  the  heart  of  a  great  audience  with  the  tones  cf  inde- 
scribable pathos  which  he  imparted  to  the  words, 

*'  Othello's  occupation 's  gone," 

a  Woald  have  puzzled  him  to  tell  whether  the  sentence  was  a  "  simple  dscls*. 
fttiT's"  or  an  "  imperfect  loose."  He  knew  as  little  of  "intensive  slides," 
"bends,"  "sweeps,"  and  "closes,"  as  Cribo,  the  boxer,  did  of  osteologj. 
He  studied  the  intonation  which  most  touched  his  own  heart  ;  and  he  gav« 
it,  reckless  of  rules,  or,  rather,  guided  by  that  paramount  rcle,  which  seeks 
tha  highest  triumphs  of  art  in  elocution  in  the  most  genuine  utterances  of 
nature. 

Attention  is  the  secret  of  success  in  speaking,  as  in  other  departments  of 
buir.«i*n  effort    Si/  .isaao  Newton  was  one  day  asked  how  he  had  discovereJ 


24 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


ihe  true  system  of  the  universe.  He  replied,  "  By  continually  thmkiu| 
apon  it."  He  was  frequently  hea,rd  to  declare  that,  "if  he  had  done  thi 
world  any  services,  it  was  due  to  nothing  but  industry  and  patient  thought, 
that  he  kept  the  subject  under  consideration  constantly  before  him,  and 
waited  till  the  first  dawning  opened  gradually,  by  little  and  little,  into  a  full 
and  clear  light."  Attention  to  the  meaning  and  full  effect  of  what  we  utter 
in  Xoiamation  will  guide  us,  better  than  any  system  of  marks,  in  a  right  dis- 
position of  emphasis  and  intiection.  By  attention,  bad  habits  are  detected 
and  repudiated,  and  happy  graces  are  seized  and  adopted.  Demosthenes  had 
a.  habit  of  raising  one  shoulder  when  he  spoke.  He  corrected  it  by  sus- 
pending a  sword,  so  that  the  point  would  pierce  the  offending  member  when 
smduly  elevated.  He  had  a  defective  utterance,  and  this  he  amended  by 
practising  declamation  with  pebbles  in  his  mouth. 

Practice  in  elocution,  under  the  guidance,  if  possible,  of  an  intelligent  in- 
structor, will  lead  to  more  solid  results  than  the  most  devoted  endeavors  to  learn, 
by  written  rules,  what  is  above  all  human  attempt  at  "circumscription  and 
confine."  Possess  your  mind  fully  with  the  spirit  of  what  you  have  to  utter, 
and  the  right  utterance  will  come  by  practice.  If  it  be  a  political  speech  of  a 
remarkable  character,  acquaint  yourself  *  with  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  was  originally  uttered;  with  the  history  and  peculiarities  of  the  speaker; 
and  with  the  interests  which  were  at  stake  at  the  time.  Enter,  with  all  the 
warmth  of  your  imaginative  faculty,  into  the  speaker's  feelings;  lose  your- 
self in  the  occasion;  let  his  words  be  stamped  on  your  memory;  and  do 
not  tire  in  repeating  them  aloud,  with  such  action  and  emphasis  as  attention 
will  suggest  and  improve,  until  you  have  acquired  that  facility  in  the  utter- 
ance which  is  essential  to  an  effective  delivery  before  an  audience.  If  it  be  a 
poem  which  you  have  to  recite,  study  to  partake  the  enthusiasm  which  the 
author  felt  in  the  composition.  Let  the  poetical  element  in  your  nature  be 
aroused,  and  give  it  full  play  in  the  utterance  of  "  thoughts  that  breathe, 
and  words  that  burn." 

The  practice  of  frequent  public  declamation  in  schools  cannot  be  too  much 
commended.  The  advantages  of  such  training,  if  not  immediai/.,  will  b€ 
recognized  later  in  life.  In  awakening  attention,  inspiring  confidence,  acquaint- 
ing the  pupil  with  the  selectest  models  of  Oratory,  compelling  him  to  try  his 
voice  before  an  audience,  and  impressing  him  with  a  sense  of  the  importance 
of  elocutionary  culture,  the  benefits  which  accrue  from  these  exercises  are 
inestimable.  The  late  .John  Quincy  Adams  used  to  trace  to  hia  simple  habit 
of  reciting,  in  obedience  to  his  fi^ither,  Collins'  little  ode,  "  Hoav  sleep  th« 
brave,"  &c.,  the  germ  of  a  patriotic  inspiration,  the  effects  of  which  he  felt 
throughout  his  public  career  ;  together  with  the  early  culture  of  a  taste  foi 
lloeution,  wliich  was  of  great  influence  in  shaping  his  future  pursuits. 

DIVISIONS  OF  ELOCUTION. 

Elocution  Is  divided  into  Articulation  and  Pronunciation  ,  Inflection  sod 
Modulation  ;  Emphasis  ;  Gesture. 

ARTICULATION  AND  PRONUNCIATION. 

Correct  articulation  is  the  most  important  exercise  of  the  voice,  and  jf  ik* 
CiPgans  of  speech.  A  public  speaker,  possessed  only  of  a  moderate  voice,  if  he 
articulate  correctly,  will  be  better  understood,  and  heard  with  greater  pleasure, 
than  one  who  vociferates,  without  judgment.  The  voice  of  the  latter  may, 
indeed,  extend  to  a  considerable  distance,  but  the  sound  is  dissipated  in  con 

•  As  an  assistance  to  the  pupil  in  carrying  out  this  reoommendation,  the  autho9 
bos,  in  many  instances,  appended  illustrative  notes,  or  brief  bi'igraphical  sketoheii 
JO  tiie  extracts  from  the  speeches  of  graat  orators. 


PRONUNCIATION. 


2d 


/usion.  Of  the  formfti  voice,  not  the  smallest  vibration  is  wasted  every  stroke  is 
f  erceived  at  the  utmost  distance  to  which  it  reaches,  and  hence  it  may  often 
appear  to  penetrate  even  further  than  one  which  is  loud,  but  badly  articulated 
"  In  just  articulation,"  says  Austin,  "  the  words  are  not  hurried  over,  not 
precipitated_  syllable  over  syllable.  They  are  delivered  out  from  the  lips.  a» 
beautiful  coins,  newly  issued  from  the  mint,  deeply  and  accurately  impressed, 
perfectly  finished,  neatly  struck  by  the  proper  organs,  distinct,  sharp,  in  du« 
succession,  and  of  due  weight." 

Pronunciation  points  out  the  proper  sounds  of  vowels  and  consonants,  and 
the  distribution  of  accent  on  syllables.  Articulation  has  a  reference  to  the  posi- 
tions and  movements  of  the  organs  which  are  necessary  to  the  production  of 
those  sounds  with  purity  and  distinctness;  it  also  regulates  the  proportion 
of  the  sounds  of  letters  in  words,  and  of  words  in  sentences.  Articulation  and 
pronunciation  may  thus  be  said  to  form  the  basis  of  elocution.  An  incorrect  or 
slovenly  pronunciation  of  words  should  be  carefully  avoided.  The  most  elo^ 
quent  discourse  may  be  marred  by  the  mispronunciation  of  a  word,  or  by  a 
vicious  or  provincial  accent.  The  dictionaries  of  Worcester  or  Webster,  in 
which  the  pronunciation  is  based  mainly  on  the  accepted  standard  of  Walk*»r, 
should  be  carefully  consulted  by  the  pupil,  wherever  he  is  doubtful  in  regard 
to  the  pronunciation  of  a  word,  or  the  accent  of  a  syllable.  These  dictiona- 
ries also  contain  ample  rules  for  the  guidance  and  practice  of  the  reader  iu 
the  attainment  of  a  correct  pronunciation  of  the  rudimental  sounds  of  the 
vowels  and  consonants.  They  should  be  carefully  studied.  A  speaker  who 
eontinually  violates  the  ear  of  taste  by  his  mispronunciation  must  never  hop« 
to  make  a  favorable  impression  upon  an  educated  audience. 


DEFECTS  IN  PRONUNCIATION. 

The  omission  to  sound  the  final    in  such  words  as  moving,  rising,  as  if 

they  were  spelled  niovin,  risin,  — is  one  of  the  most  frequent  defects  which 
irtattentive  readers  exhibit.    A  habit  also  DS-evaiis  of  slurring  the  full  sound  of 
the  italicised  letter  in  such  words  as  belief,  Doiite,  political,  w/tisper,  wAich; 
several,  every,  deliverer,  traveller;  histoij,  memorable,  melody,  philosophy; 
society,  variety,  &g.;  also  of  mufiiing  the  r  in  such  words  as  alarm,  reform, 
arrest,  warrior;  omitting  the  e  in  the  last  syllable  of  sudden,  mitten,  &c.; 
corrupting  the  a  in  musical,  social,  whimsical,  metal,  &c.;  the't'  in  certainly,' 
fountain,  &c.;  the  last  o  in  Bostan,  notion,  &o.;  giving  e  the  sound  of  u  in 
momentary,  insolent,  and  the  like;  and  a  the  same  sound  in  jubilant,  ar'-o- 
gant,  &c. ;  giving  the  sound  of  er  to  the  final  termination  of  mch  words  aa 
fellow,  potato,  folio?/;,  hallow ,-  giving  to  r  in  war,  warlike,  partial,  &c  ,  the 
sound  of  w ;  prolonging  the  sound  of  w  in  law;,  flaw;,  as  if  there  were  an  r 
tacked  on  at  the  end  of  the  words;  in  such  words  as  nature,  creature,  leo-is. 
lature,  &g.,  failing  to  give  the  full  sound  to  the  u  and  e  of  the  last  syllable 
as  they  are  sounded  in  pure,  sv,re,  &c.;  giving  to  the  a  in  scarce  the  sound 
of    m  purse  ;  slurring  the  final  o  in  occasion,  invention,  condition,  &c.;  giv- 
ing the  sound  of  u  to  the  a  in  Indian;  giving  the  sound  of  urn  to  the  final  m 
m  chasm,  patriotiS7«,  &c.;  the  sound  of?:  to  the  e  in  go-v^dness,  matchless;  the 
sound  of  fie  to  the/w/  of  awful,  beautifwl,  and  the  like.    The  c  in  the  fii-gt 
syllable  of  such  words  as  terminate,  mercy,  perpetrate,  &c.,  ought,  according 
to  the  stricter  critics  in  elocution,  to  have  the  sound  of  e  in  merit,  terror,  &c 
A  habit  of  speaking  through  the  nose,  in  the  utterance  of  such  words  as  no-o 
•o?e,  13  pre  /alent  in  New  England,  and  should  be  overcome  by  all  who  roui(J 
not  make  themselves  ridiculous  in  educated  society. 

Otlier  cour  mou  defects  in  pronunciation  are  thus  satirized  by  Holraea 

"  Learning  condemns,  beyond  the  reach  of  hope, 
The  careless  churl  that  speaks  of  soap  for  soap  ; 
Her  edict  exiles  from  her  fair  abode 
Hw  olowni^h  voice  that  utters  road  for  roaA  j 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


fiess  stem  to  him  who  calls  his  coat  a  coat. 
And  steers  his  boat,  believing  it  a  boat ; 
She  pardoned  one,  —  our  classic  city's  boast, — 
Who  said,  at  Cambridge,  most  instead  of  most ; 
But  knit  her  brows,  and  stamped  her  angry  foot; 
To  hear  a  teacher  call  a  root  a  root. 

"  Once  more  ;  speak  clearly,  if  you  speak  at  ail ; 
Carve  every  word  before  jou  let  it  fall ; 
Dpn't,  like  a  lecturer  or  dramatic  staa*. 
Try  over-hard  to  roll  the  British  R  ; 
Do  put  your  aosents  in  the  proper  spot  ; 
Don't  —  let  me  beg  you  —  don't  say  "  How  1 "  for  "  \»Tiat  I " 
And,  when  you  stick  on  conversation's  bur?. 
Don't  strew  your  pathway  with  those  drecidful  ur^  !  ^ 

It  lb  6  beginning  of  a  course  of  elocution,  it  is  necessary  that  a  jainutv  attea 
tit,n  be  paid  to  the  producing  of  the  exact  sounds  on  the  unaccer.teJ  syllables, 
and  ooagb  this  maj  be  censured  by  many,  as  affected  and  ihe^^trical,  it  must 
for  a  ciij^e,  be  encouraged.  Most  persons  will  give  , the  sound  of  a  in  accessory 
distinctly  aud  purely,  as  the  accent  is  on  it;  but,  if  the  accent  is  on  the  second 
syllable  of  a  word  beginning  in  the  same  way,  as  in  accord,  the  greater  numbei 
of  people  would  give  the  ac  an  obscure  sound,  as  if  the  word  were  uccord.  The 
same  remark  holds  with  regard  to  the  initial  ab,  ad,  af,  ag,  al,  am,  an,  ar,  ap, 
as,  at,  av,  az,  con,  col,  &c. ;  e,  de,  re,  i,  in,  o,  oh,  op,  &c.  Thus,  the  o  in  omen, 
the  e  in  exact,  will  be  sounded  correctly  by  most  persons;  but,  in  opinion^ 
proceed,  and  emit,  as  the  accent  is  shifted,  these  vowels  would  be  generally 
sounded  upinion,  pruceed,  and  imit.  Through  the  same  neglect,  the  second 
in  nobody  is  not  sounded  like  the  o  in  body,  as  it  should  be;  and  the  a  in  cir- 
cumstances is  different  from  the  a  in  circumstantial;  —  the  former  words  being 
Bounded  nob'dy,  circuir  nces.  The  terminational  syllables  mejtt,  7iess,  tion, 
ly,  ture,  our,  ous,  en,  tl,  la,  &c.,  are  also  generally  given  impurely,  the 
attention  being  directed  principally  to  the  previous  accented  syllable  ;  thus, 
the  word  compliments  is  erroneously  given  the  sound  of  complivdnts;  nation^ 
that  of  nashn ;  only,  onle  (the  e  as  in  met) ;  nature,  natchvr ;  valor,  valer  : 
famous,  f amass  ;  novel,  novl  ;  chicken,  chickn  ;  Latin,  Latn.  Sometimes, 
the  concluding  consonant  is  almost  lost  in  the  unaccented  syllable,  while  it  id 
preserved  in  the  accented  ;  thus,  in  the  noun  subject,  in  which  the  accent  is  on 
the  first  syllable,  the  t  is  scarcely  sounded  by  many  who  would  sound  it  in 
the  verb  to  subject,  in  which  the  accent  is  on  the  last  syllable.  In  d  and  / 
final,  the  articulation  is  not  completed  until  the  tongue  comes  off  from  the  roof 
of  the  mouth.  Distinctness  is  gained  by  this  attention  to  the  quality  of  unac- 
cented vowels,  and  to  the  clear  and  precise  utterance  of  the  consonants  in 
unaccented  syllables.  Care  must  be  taken,  however,  that  the  pupil  do  not 
enunciate  too  slowly.  The  motions  of  the  organs  must  frequently  be,  rapid  in 
their  changes,  that  the  due  propo.'tions  of  syllables  may  be  preserved.. 

As  emphasis  is  to  a  sentence  what  accent  is  to  words,  the  remarks  which 
hav3  been  made  on  accented  and  unaccented  syllables  apply  to  words  emphatic 
and  unemphutic.  The  unemphatic  words  are  also  apt  to  become  inarticulate 
from  t've  insufiicient  force  which  is  put  upon  them,  and  the  vowel-souads,  ai 
hi  can  as,  and  the  consonant  d  in  and,  &c.,  are  changed  or  lost.  In  certain 
Wor^  sucb  as  my,  mine,  thy,  thine,  you,  your,  the  unemphatic  pronuncia^ 
Jaon  is  different  from  the  emphatic,  being  sounded  m.e,-min,  the,  tkm,  ye,  yur- 
fts,  this  IS  min  own,  this  is  yur  own.  In  solemn  reading,  this  abbreviate 
pronunciation  is  avoided,  and  the  words  ^re  pronounced  as  they  are  wheo 
aingle. 

MODULATION  OR  MANAGEMENT  OF  THE  VOICJB. 

The  modulation  of  the  voice  is  one  of  the  most  important  requisites'  in  i 
^lio  speaker.    Even  to  the  private  reader,  who  wishes  to  execute  his  tas> 


MODULATION  OP  THE  VOICE. 


27 


pleasure  to  others,  it  is  a  necessary  accomplishment.  A.  vjicp  which 
keeps  long  in  one  key,  however  correct  the  pronunciation,  delicate  thj  inflec- 
don,  and  just  the  emphasis,  will  soon  tire  the  hearer.  The  voice  has  been 
considered  as  capable  of  assuming  three  keys,  —  the  low,  the  high,  and  the  mid- 
dle. This  variety  is  undoubtedly  too  limited  ;  bat,  for  the  first  lessona  of  a 
student,  it  may  be  useful  to  regard  the  classification.  A  well -trained  voic« 
is  capable  of  ranging  in  these  with  various  degrees  of  loudness,  softness,  stress, 
ecntiuuity,  and  rapidity. 

These  dilferent  stater,  of  the  voice,  properly  managed,  give  rise  to  that  strike 
Ing  and  beautiful  variety  which  is  essential  to  eloquent  delivery.    The  diiFe\ 
euce  between  loud  and  soft,  and  high  and  low  tones,  should  be  well  understood 
Pian'y  and  forte  have  no  relation  to  pitch  or  key,  but  to  force  and  quantity 
And,  when  applied  to  the  voice,  they  relate  to  the  body  or  volume  which  the 
speaker  or  singer  gives  out.    We  can,  therefore,  be  very  soft  in  a  high  note, 
and  very  \o\l^  in  a  lew  one  ;  just  as  a  smart  stroke  on  a  bell  may  have  ex 
actly  the  same  note  as  a  slight  one,  though  it  is  considerably  louder.    It  ought 
to  be  a  first  principle,  with  all  public  readers  and  speakers,  rather  to  begin 
below  the  common  level  of  the  voice  than  above  it.    A  good  practical  rule  for 
the  speaker,  in  commencing,  is  to  speak  as  if  he  would  have  his  voice  reach 
those  in  the  centre  of  the  hall.    He  thus-  will  begin  on  a  level  tone,  from  which 
he  may  easily  rise.    Some  abrupt  forms  of  speech  require,  however,  a  loud 
tone  of  voice,  even  at  the  commencement,  to  give  them  their  due  eftect;  as,  for 
instance  :  "  How  long,  0  Catiline  !  wilt  thou  abuse  our  patience?" 

The  right  assumption  of  the  keya  constitutes  what  may  be  termed  the  feeling 
of  a  composition;  —  without  it,  acting  is  lifeless,  and  argument  tiresome.  It  is 
a  want  of  this  variety  which  distinguishes  the  inanimate  speaker.  His  inflec- 
tion may  be  correct,  and  have  even  what  has  been  termed  a  musical  cadence; 
but,  without  this  variety  of  key,  ho  must  tire  his  audience.  The  elfect  of  a 
taransiticn  from  the  major  to  the  minor  key  in  music  is  not  more  striking  than 
the  variety  which  the  voice  will  occasionally  assume.  A  change  of  key  is  gen- 
erally necessary  at  the  commencemeot  of  a  new  sentence.  When,  in  the  pre- 
ceding sentence,  the  voice  has  sunk  down  towards  the  close,  in  the  new  sentence 
It  sometimes  recovers  its  elasticity,  and  sometimes  it  continues  in  the  depressed 
note  on  which  the  preceding  sentence  terminates. 

In  common  conversation,  our  tone  is  light,  and  appears  to  come  from  the 
sip  ;  in  serious  and  impressive  speaking,  it  appears  to  be  foi-med  further  back, 
and  is  accompanied  by  a  greater  tension  of  the  muscles  of  the  throat.  The 
deeper  formation  of  the  voice  is  the  secret  of  that  peculiar  tone  which  is  found 
in  actors  and  orators  of  celebrity.  Some  have  this  voice  n  ttm-ally;  but  the 
greater  number  must  acquire  it  by  assiduous  practice.  The  pupil  must  be 
required  to  speak  "  further  down  in  the  throat."  This  peculiar  voice,  which 
is  adapted  to  the  expression  of  what  is  solemn,  grand  and  exciting,  "  is  formed 
in  those  parts  of  the  mouth  posterior  to  the  palate,  bounded  below  by  the  root 
of  the  tongue,  above  by  the  commencement  of  the  palate,  behind  by  the  most 
posterior  part  of  the  throat,  and  on  the  sides  by  the  angles  of  the  jaw.  The 
tongue,  in  the  mean  time,  is  hollowed  and  drawn  back;  and  the  mouth  is 
opene'.i  in  such  a  manner  as  to  favor,  as  much  as  possible,  the  enlargement  of 
the  cavity  described." 

LOW  KEY. 

To  acquire  strength  and  distinctness  in  this  key,  the  remarks  in  the  last 
|>aragraph  will  be  found  useful.  Nothing  more  unequivocally  marks  the  fin- 
ished speaker  than  a  command  over  the  low  notes  of  his  voice  ;  it  is  a  raw 
accomplishment,  but  one  which  is  a  most  valuable  principle  in  Oratory 
Strengthening  the  low  notes,  after  forming  them,  should  be  a  great  object  witb 
the  master  in  Elocution  ;  but  it  too  often  happens  that  the  acquisition  of  it 
screaming  high  note  is  reckoned  the  desideratum  in  speaking.  Th?  difficulty 
if  being  distinct  aui  audible  in  the  low  key  is  at  first  discouraging  ;  butpra<> 


28 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


tice  will,  m  most  cases,  attain  the  object.  Smiles  in  poetry  fcim  proM 
examples  for  gaining  a  habit  of  lowering  the  voice. 

He  above  the  rest, 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower.    His  form  had  yet  tv^t  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeare,* 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun  new-risen 
'  Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 

Shorn  of  his  beams ;  or  from  behind  the  moon. 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  Nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  Monarchs. 

^  Til©  following  passage,  in  which  King  John  takes  Hubert  aside,  and  tomptt 
kim  to  undertake  the  death  of  Arthur,  requires,  in  the  enunciation,  a  full,  aad' 
Me  tone  of  voice,  in  a  low  key  : 

K.  John.  I  had  a  thing  to  say,  —  but  let  it  go; 
The  sun  is  in  the  Heaven,  and  the  proud  day. 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Is  all  too  wanton  and  too  full  of  gauds 
To  give  me  audience.    If  the  midnight  bell 
Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 
Sound  one  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night: 
If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand. 
And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs; 
—  Or  if  that  thou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes. 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongud,  using  conceit  alone,  — 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words,  — 
Then,  in  despite  of  broad-eyed  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosora  pour  my  thoughts. 
But,  ah  !  I  will  not,  —  yet  I  love  thee  well ; 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  think  thou  lov'st  me  well  ! 

Hub.    So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake. 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act. 
By  Heaven,  I 'd  do 't ! 

K.  John.  Do  I  not  know  thou  wouldst  % 
Good  Hubert,  Hubert,  Hubert,  throw  thine  eye 
On  that  young  boy:  I'll  tell  thee  what,  my  friend. 
He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way. 
And  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread. 
He  lies  before  me  !    Dost  thou  understand  me  1 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hub.  And  I  '11  keep  him  so 
That  he  shall  not  olfend  your  majesty 

K.  John.  Death. 

Hub.  My  Lord  1 

K.  John.  A  grave. 

Hub.  He  shall  not  live. 

K.  John.  Enough. 
I  could  he  merry  now.    Hubert,  I  love  thee: 
Well,  I  '11  not  say  what  I  'ntend  for  thee; 
Remember.  Shakspeare's  King  John,  Act  lii.  Seme  ft 

MIDDLE  KEY. 

Tys  is  the  key  of  common  discourse,  and  the  key  in  which  8  speaker  toust 
•."ually  deliver  the  greater  part  of  his  speech.  Sheridan  points  out  a  simpl« 
method  of  acquiring  loudness  n.  this  key.  "  Any  one,  who  •  hrough  habit, 
^  fallen  into  a  weak  utterance,  cannot  hope  suddenly  to  chan^  it    be  mufi 


MODULATION  OF  THE  TOICE. 


2h 


(b  it  by  degrees,  and  constant  practice.  I  would  theref^>re  reoommend  it  tc 
him  that  he  should  daily  exercise  himself  in  reading  or  repeating,  in  the  hearing 
of  a  friend  ;  and  that,  too,  in  a  large  room.  At  first,  his  friend  should  stand 
at  such  a  distance  only  as  the  speaker  can  easily  reach,  hi  his  usual  manner  ot 
delivering  himself.  Afterwards,  let  him  gradually  increaoe  his  distance,  and 
the  speaker  will  in  the  same  gradual  proportion  increase  the  force  of  his 
voice.'*  In  doing  this,  the  speaker  still  keeps  on  the  same  tone  of  voice, 
but  gives  it  with  greater  power.  It  is  material  to  notice,  that  a  well-forme  I 
middle  tone,  and  even  a  low  one,  is  capable  of  filling  any  room ;  and  that  th® 
neglect  of  strengthening  the  voice  in  these  leads  a  speaker  to  adopt  the  higli, 
shouting  note  which  is  often  heard  in  our  pulpits.  Hamlet's  address  to  the 
players  should  be  mostly  delivered  in  this  middle  key. 

HIGH  KEY. 

This  key  of  the  voice,  though  very  uncommon  in  level  speaking  or  read 
ing,  ought  to  be  practised,  as  it  tends  to  give  strength  to  the  voice  generally, 
and  as  it  is  frequently  employed  in  public  speaking  and  declamation.  Every  one 
can  speak  in  a  high  key,  but  few  do  it  pleasingly.  There  is  a  compression 
necessary  in  the  high  notes,  as  well  as  the  middle  and  low;  this  compression 
distinguishes  the  vociferous  passion  of  the  peasant  from  that  of  the  accomplished 
actor  or  orator.  The  following  passage  will  bear  the  most  vigorous  exercise  of 
the  high  key  ; 

Fight,  gentlemen  of  England  !  fight,  bold  Yeomen  ! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head ; 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood: 
Amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves  !  — 
A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom; 
Advance  our  standards,  set  upon  our  foes ; 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  St.  George, 
Inspire  us  with  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons  ' 
Upon  them  !  Victory  sits  on  our  helms  ! 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind,  that  it  is  not  he  who  speaks  the  loudest  who 
can  be  heard  the  furthest.  "It  is  a  curious  fact  in  the  history  of  sound," 
Bays  a  scientific  observer,  "that  the  loudest  noises  always  perish  on  the, spot 
where  they  are  produced,  whereas  musical  notes  will  be  heard  at  a  great 
distance.  Thus,  if  we  approach  within  a  mile  or  two  of  a  town  or  village  in 
which  a  fair  is  held,  we  may  hear  very  faintly  the  clamor  of  the  multitude, 
but  more  distinctly  the  organs,  and  other  musical  instruments,  which  are  played 
for  their  amusement.  If  a  Cremona  violin,  a  real  Amati,  oe  played  by  11«5 
Bide  of  a  modern  fiddle,  the  latter  will  sound  much  louder  than  the  former; 
but  the  sweet,  brilliant  tone  of  the  Amati  will  be  heard  at  a  distance  the  other 
cannot  reach.  Dr.  Young,  on  the  authority  of  Durham,  states  that  at  Q  braU 
tar  the  hum-in  voice  may  be  heard  at  a  greater  distance  than  that  oi  any 
other  animal;  thus,  when  the  cottager  in  the  woods,  or  the  open  plain,  w-she? 
to  call  hrr  husband,  who  is  working  at  a  distance,  she  does  not  shout,  but 
pitches  her  voice  to  a  musical  key,  which  she  knows  from  habit,  and  by  thai 
means  reaches  his  ear.  The  loudest  roar  of  the  largest  lion  could  not 
penetrate  so  far.  Loud  speakers  are  seldom  heard  to  advantage.  Burke's 
roice  is  said  to  have  been  a  sort  of  lofty  cry,  which  tended  as  much  as  the 
fermality  of  his  discourse  in  the  House  of  Commons  to  send  the  members  to 
their  dinner.  Chatham's  lowest  whisper  was  distinctly  heard.  'His  middle 
tones  were  sweet,  rich  and  beautifully  varied,'  says  a  writer,  describing  the 
orator;  'when  he  raised  his  voice  to  the  highest  pitch,  the  House  was  com- 
pletely filled  with  the  volume  of  sound;  and  the  effect  was  awful,  except 
when  he  wished  to  cheer  or  animate  —  and  then  he  had  spirit-stirring  notds 
which  were  perfectly  irresistible.  The  terrible,  however,  was  his  peculiar 
power.    Then  the  Hc-i«e  sank  before  him;  still,  he  «ras  dignified,  and,  wondar 


so 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


fill  as  was  his  eloquence,  it  was  attended  with  this  important  effect,  tL«4t  U 
possessed  every  one  with  a  conviction  that  there  was  something  in  him  fia«t 
than  his  words,  —  that  the  man  was  greater,  infinitely  greater,  tiao  tho 
orator.'  " 

MONOTONE. 

A  monotone  is  intonation  without  change  of  pitch:  that  is,  preserving  • 
falness  of  tone,  without  ascent  or  descent  on  the  scale.  It  is  no  very  difficult 
matter  to  be  loud  in  a  high  tone;  but  to  be  loud  and  forcible  in  a  low 
tone,  requires  great  practice  and  management;  th:s,  however,  may  be  facili- 
tated by  pronouncing  forcibly  at  first  in  alow  monotone.  A  monotone,  thougii 
in  a  low  key,  and  without  force,  is  much  more  sonorous  and  audible  than  when 
the  voice  slides  up  and  down  at  almost  every  word,  as  it  must  do  to  b« 
various.  This  tone  is  adopted  by  actors  when  they  repeat  passages  aside.  It 
conveys  the  idea  of  being  inaudible  to  those  with  them  in  the  scene,  by  being 
in  a  lower  tone  than  that  used  in  the  dialogue;  and,  by  being  in  a  monotone, 
becomes  audible  to  the  whole  house.  The  monotone,  therefore,  is  an  excellent 
vehicle  for  such  passages  as  require  force  and  audibility  in  a  low  tone,  and  in 
the  hands  of  a  judicious  reader  or  speaker  is  a  perpetual  source  of  variety.  It 
is  used  when  anything  awful  or  sublime  is  to  be  expressed,  as 

0  !  when  the  last  account  twixt  Heaven  and  earth 
Is  to  be  made,  then  shall  this  hand  and  seal 
Witness  against  us  to  damnation. 

The  language  of  the  ghost  in  Hamlet  is  mostly  uttered  in  a  deep  monotone, 
rhe  following  passage  from  Ion  is'  partly  given  in  a  solemn  monotone  : 

Dark  and  cold 

Stretches  the  path,  which,  when  I  wear  the  Crown, 

1  needs  must  enter ;  —  the  great  Gods  forbid 
That  thou  shouldst  follow  it  ! 

The  monotone  is  varied,  in  the  itP'I-cized  part,  to  the  tone  of  pas^ionatt 
emotion  and  supplication. 

TIME. 

Modulation  includes,  also,  the  consideration  of  time,  which  is  natural  m  the 
pronunciation  of  certain  passages.  The  combinations,  then,  of  pitch,  force 
and  time,  are  extremely  numerous  :  thus,  we  have  low,  loud,  slow;  low,  soft, 
Blow  ;  low,  feeble,  slow  ;  low,  loud,  quick,  &c.  ;  middle,  loud,  slow  ;  middle 
Boft,  slow  ;  middle,  feeble,  slow,  &c.  Thus,  we  have  a  copious  natural  lari'. 
guage,  adapted  to  the  expression  of  evei-y  emotion  and  passion. 

IMITATIVE  MODULATION. 

Motion  and  sound,  in  all  their  modifications,  are,  in  descriptive  reading, 
more  or  less  imitated.  To  glide,  to  drive,  to  swell,  to  flow,  to  skip,  to  whirl, 
to  turn,  to  rattle,  &c.„  all  partake  of  a  peculiar  moditi(5ation  of  voice.  Thin 
sxpression  lies  in  the  key,  force,  and  time  of  the  tones,  and  the  forcible  pro- 
oranciation  of  certain  letters  which  are  supposed  more  particularly  to  eipreiM 
tSse  imitation. 

Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows. 

And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flowB; 

But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore. 

The  hoarse,  rough  verso  should  like  the  torrent  roai 

Whnn  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 

TT'ft  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  move  slow; 

Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 

Fliee  o'er  the  unbending  cor  n,  and  skims  alone  the  maiu. 


PAUSES^ 

Grammatical  punctuation  does  not  always  demand  a  pause  ,  and  the  time 
ttf  the  pauses  at  various  points  is  not  correctly  stated  in  many  books  on  read- 
ing. In  some  treatises,  the  pause  at  the  period  is  described  as  being  uni- 
formly  four  times  as  long  as  that  at  a  comma  ;  whereas,  it  is  regulated  entirely 
Dy  the  nature  of  the  subject,  the  intimacy  or  remoteness  of  the  connection 
between  the  sentences,  and  other  causes.  "I  am  convinced,"  says  Mr. 
Kiiowles,  "  that  a  nice  attention  to  rhetorical  punctuation  has  an  extremelj 
mischievoas  tendency,  and  is  totally  inconsistent  with  nature.  Give  thf 
sense  of  what  you  read  —  mind  is  the  thing.  Pauses  are  essential  only  wheet 
the  omission  would  obscure  the  sense.  The  orator,  who,  in  the  act  of  delrn  v- 
Lng  himself,  is  studiously  solicitous  about  parcelling  his  words,  is  ;mre  tfi 
.eave  the  best  part  of  his  work  undone.  He  delivers  words,  not  thoughts, 
Deliver  thoughts,  and  words  will  take  care  enough  of  themselves." 

EMPHASIS. 

By  emphasis  is  meant  that  stronger  and  fuller  sound  of  voice,  by  which  in 
reading  or  speaking,  wo  distinguish  the  accented  syllable,  or  some  word,' on 
Which  we  design  to  lay  particular  stress,  in  order  to  show  how  it  alfects  the 
rest  of  the  sentence.  On  the  right  management  of  the' emphasis  depend  the 
Whole  life  and  spirit  of  every  discourse.  If  no  emphasis  be  placed  on  any 
word,  not  only  is  discourse  rendered  heavy  and  lifeless,  but  the  meaning  left 
often  ambiguous.  If  the  emphasis  be  placed  wrong,  we  pervert  and  confound 
the  meaning  wholly.  In  order  to  acquire  the  proper  management  of  the 
emphasis,  then,  the  great  rule,  and,  indeed,  the  only  unexceptional  rule,  is, 
that  the  speakcjr  or  reader  study  to  attain  a  just  conception  of  the  force  and 
spirit  of  those  forms  of  expression  which  he  is  to  pronounce 

To  give  a  common  instance  :  such  a  simple  question  as  this,  "  Do  you  ride 
to  town  to-day? "  is  capable  of  no  fewer  than  four  acceptations,  according  as 
tne  emphasis  is  differently  placed  on  the  words.  If  it  be  pronounced  thus  : 
Do  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ?  the  answer  may  naturally  be,  No  ;  I  send  my 
servant  m  my  stead.  If  thus  :  Do  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ?  Answer.  No  i 
I  intend  to  «;a//c.  Do  you  ride  io  town  to-day?  No;  I  ride  out  into  th« 
iields.  Do  you  ride  to  town  to-cfai/ ?  No;  but  I  shalUo-wj  or  row.  And  there 
S  yet  another  expression  that  this  little  sentence  is  capable  of,  which  would 
oe  given  by  placing  the  emphasis  on  the  first  word,  do,  being  a  necessary 
entorcement  of  the  question,  if  the  person  asked  had  evaded  giving  a  reply 
thus  :  "Z>o  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ?  "  The  tone  implying  :  Come,  tell  me  at 
once,  do  you,  or  do  you  not  ? 

There  are  four  obvious  distinctions  in  the  sound  of  woras,  with  respect  tc 
force.  First,  the  force  necessary  for  the  least  important  words,  such  as  con- 
junctions, particles,  &c.,  which  may  be  called  feeble  or  unaccented.  Second 
the  force  necessary  for  substantives,  verbs,  &c.,  which  may  be  called  accented. 
Inird,  that  force  wh.ch  is  used  for  distinguishing  some  words  from  others 
commonly  called  emphasis  of  force.  Fourth,  the  force  necessary  for  emphasis 
of  sense.  Ag  opposition  is  the  foundation  of  all  emphasis  of  Pense,  whatever 
words  are  contrasted  with,  contradistinjjuished  from,  or  set  in  opposition  to 
pr^e  another,  they  are  always  emphatic.  Hence,  whenever  there  is  antithesis 
m  the  sense,  whether  words  or  clauses,  there  ought  to  be  emphasis  in  the  nro- 
nanciation.  ^  ^ 

The  variations  of  emphasis  are  so  numerous  as  to  defy  the  formation 
»f  riiles  that  can  be  appropriate  in  all  cases.  Give  a  dozen  well-traineo 
slocutioaists  a  sentence  to  mark  emphatically,  and  probabJy  no  two  woul<; 
perform  the  task  precisely  alike. 

What  though  the  field  be  lost  1 
All  is  not  lost ;  the  unconqueirable  m  \ 
And  study  of  'n)enge,  immortal  fia^e. 


8& 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield,  — ■ 
Thca  glory  never  shall  His  wrath  or  might 
Extort  from  rru. 

The  following  speech  of  Othello  is  an  example  of  what  is  termed  oumuU^ve 
smphasis  : 

If  thou  dost  slander  her  and  torture  me, 
Never  pray  more  ;  abandon  all  remorse; 
'  On  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate  ; 

Do  deeds  to  make  Heavev  weep,  all  earth  amazed  — 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add 
Greater  than  this  ! 

III.  GESTUKE. 

Gestube,  considered  as  a  just  and  elegant  adaptation  of  every  part  of  the 
feody  to  the  nature  and  import  of  the  subject  we  are  pronouncing,  has  always 
Deen  considered  as  one  of  the  most  essential  parts  of  Oratory.  Cicero  says, 
that  its  power  is  even  greater  than  that  of  words.  It  is  the  language  of 
nature  in  the  strictest  sense,  and  makes  its  way  to  the  heart  without  the 
utterance  of  a  single  sound.  I  may  threaten  a  man  with  my  sword  by 
speech,  and  produce  little  eifect  ;  but  if  I  clap  my  hand  to  the  hilt  simulta- 
aeously  with  the  threat,  he  will  be  startled  according  to  the  earnestness  of  the 
action.  This  instance  will  illustrate  the  whole  theory  of  gesture.  According 
to  Demosthenes,  action  is  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  of  Oratory. 

To  be  perfectly  motionless  while  we  are  pronouncing  words  which  require 
force  and  energy,  is  not  only  depriving  them  of  their  necessary  support,  but 
rendering  them  unnatural  and  ridiculous.  A  very  vehement  address,  pro- 
nounced without  any  motion  but  that  of  the  lips  and  tongue,  would  be  a  bur- 
lesque upon  the  meaning,  and  produce  laughter  ;  nay,  so  unnatural  is  this 
total  absence  of  gesticulation,  that  it  is  not  very  easy  to  speak  in  this  manner. 
As  some  action,  therefore,  must  necessarily  accompany  our  words,  it  is  of  the 
utmost  consequence  that  this  be  such  as  is  suitable  and  natural.  No  matter 
how  little,  if  it  be  but  akin  to  the  words  and  passion  ;  for,  if  foreign  to  them 
it  counteracts  and  destroys  the  very  intention  of  delivery.  The  voice  and 
gesture  may  be  said  to  be  tuned  to  each  other  ;  and,  if  they  are  in  a  ditferent 
key,  as  it  may  be  called,  discord  must  inevitably  be  the  consequence. 

"  A  speaker's  body,"  says  Fenelon,  "  must  betray  action  when  there  ia 
movement  in  his  words  ;  and  his  body  must  remain  in  repose  when  what  he 
utters  is  of  a  level,  simple,  unimpassioned  character.  Nothing  seems  to  vsxi 
80  shocking  and  absurd  as  the  sight  of  a  man  lashing  himself  to  a  fury  in  the 
utterance  of  tame  things.  The  more  he  sweats,  the  more  he  freezes  my  very 
blood." 

Mr.  Austin,  in  his  "  Chironomia,"  was  the  first  to  lay  down  laws  for  th€ 
regulation  of  gesture  ;  and  nearly  all  subsequent  writers  on  the  subject  have 
borrowed  largely  from  his  work.  He  ilhistrates  his  rules  by  plates,  showing 
the  different  attitudes  and  gestures  for  the  expression  of  certain  emotions. 
Experience  has  abundantly  proved  that  no  benefit  is  to  be  derived  from  thfl 
•tmdy  of  these  figures.  They  only  serve  as  a  subject  for  ridicule  to  boys;  and 
are  generally  found,  in  every  volume  in  use,  well  pencilled  over  with  satirical 
marks  or  mottoes,  issuing  from  the  mouths  of  the  still-looking  gentlemen  who 
ftre  presented  as  models  of  grace  and  expression  to  aspiring  youth. 

The  following  is  an  enumeration  of  some  of  the  most  frequent  gestures,  t« 
which  the  various  members  of  the  body  contribute  : 

The  Head  and  Face.  The  hanging  down  of  the  head  denotes  shame,  OJ 
grief.  The  holding  it  up,  pride,  or  courage.  To  nod  forward,  implies  assent, 
fo  toss  the  head  back,  dissent.  The  inclination  of  the  head  implies  bashful 
ftiluess  or  languor.  The  head  is  averted  in  dislike  or  horror.  It  leans  fop 
vari  in  attention. 


GESTUItE  AND  ATTITtrUE. 


33 


Tl.e  Eyes.  The  eyes  are  raised,  in  prayer.  They  weep^  in  sorrow.  Burn, 
m  anger.  They  are  cast  on  vacancy,  in  thought,  'i'hey  are  thrown  in  differeat 
directions,  in  doubt  and  anxiety. 

The  Jlxtus.  The  arm  is  projected  forward,  in  authority  Both  arms  src 
spread  extended,  in  admiratitsn.  They  are  held  forward,  m  imploring  help 
They  both  fall  suddenly,  in  disappointment.  Folded,  thej  ienote  thv.ughtful 
aess 

ThrS  Hands.  The  hand  on  the  head  indicates  pain,  i»r  distress.  On  tic 
tjres,  shame.  On  the  lips,  injunction  of  silence.  On  the  breast,  it  appeals  t© 
e-oascience,  or  intimates  desire.  The  hand  waves,  or  flourishes,  in  joy,  or  con 
'empt.  Both  hands  are  held  supine,  or  clasped,  in  prayer.  Both  descend 
prone,  in  blessing.  They  are  clasped,  or  wrung,  in  affliction.  The  outstretched 
fiands,  with  the  knackles  opposite  the  speaker's  tace,  express  fear,  abhorrence, 
rejection,  or  dismissal.  The  outstretched  hands,  with  the  palms  toward  the  fac6 
of  the  speaker,  denote  approval,  acceptation,  welcoming,  and  love. 

The  Body.  The  body,  held  erect,  indicates  steadiness  and  courage.  Thrown 
back,  pride.  Stoopijig  forward,  condesu *ision ,  or  compassion.  Bending, 
reverence,  or  respect.    Prostration,  the  utmost  humility,  or  abasement. 

The  Lower  Limbs.  Their  firm  position  signifief  courage,  or  obstinacy 
Bended  knees,  timidity,  or  weakness.  Frequent  change,  disturbed  thoughts 
They  advance,  in  desire,  or  courage.  Retire,  in  aversion,  or  fear.  Start,  in 
terror.    Stamp,  in  authority,  or  anger.    Kneel,  in  -submission  and  prayer. 

Walker  says  that  we  should  be  careful  to  let  th(  stroke  of  the  hand  which 
marks  force,  or  emphasis,  keep  exact  time  with  tne  force  of  pronunciation 
that  is,  the  hand  must  go  down  upon  the  emjhatic  word,  and  no  other 
Thus,  in  the  imprecation  of  Brutus,  in  Julius  Caesar 

When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  nis  friends, 
Be  ready,  Gods,  with  ail  your  thunderbolts. 
Dash  him  in  pieces  ! 

Here,  says  Walker,  the  action  of  the  arm  which  enforces  the  emphasis  ought  ■ 
t«  be  so  directed  that  the  stroke  of  the  hand  may  be  given  exactly  on  the 
word  dash  ;  this  will  give  a  concomitant  action  to  the  organs  of  pronunciation, 
and  by  this  means  the  whole  expression  wi\l  be  greatly  augmented. 

Archbishop  Whately  contends,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  natural  order  of 
action  is,  that  the  gesture  should  precede  the  utterance  of  the  words.  "  An 
emotion,  struggling  for  utterance,  produces  a  tendency  to  a  bodily  gesture,  to 
express  that  emotion  more  quickly  than  words  can  be  framed;  the  words  fol 
low  as  soon  as  they  can  be  spoken.  And  this  being  always  the  case  with  a  real, 
earnest,  unstudied  speaker,  this  mode,  of  placing  the  action  foremost,  gives 
(,'if  it  be  otherwise  appropriate)  the  appearance  of  earnest  emotion  actually 
present  in  the  mind.  And  the  reverse  of  this  natural  order  would  alone  be 
sufficient  to  convert  the  action  of  Demosthenes  himself  into  unsuccessful  and 
ridiculous  mimicry." 

Where  two  such  authorities  clash,  the  pupil's  own  good  taste  must  give  th« 
to  his  decision. 

ATTITUDE. 

«^  fhe  gracefulness  of  motion  in  the  iiuman  frame,"  says  Austin,  in  hia 
Cfliroaomia,  "  consists  in  the  facility  and  security  with  which  it  is  executed: 
ftnd  the  grace  of  any  position  consists  in  the  facility  with  which  it  can  be 
varied.  Hence,  in  the  standing  figure,  the  position  is  graceful  when  the 
iveight  of  the  body  is  principally  supported  on  one  leg,  while  the  other  is  so 
placed  as  to  be  ready  to  relieve  it  promptly,  and  without  eftbrt.  The  foot  which 
flastains  the  principal  weight  must  be  so  placed  that  a  perpendicular  line,  lei 
^11  from  the  pit  of  the  neck,  shall  pass  through  the  heel  of  that  foot.  Of 
Bourse,  thu  centre  of  gravity  of  the  body  is,  for  the  time,  in  that  line;  whUaJ 
3 


54 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


the  other  foot  assists  merely  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  tha  body  balanced  It 
ihe  positicn,  and  of  preventing  it  from  tottering.  In  the  various  positions  oi 
the  feet,  care  is  to  be  taken  that  the  grace  which  is  aimed  at  be  attended  with 
simplicity.  The  position  of  the  orator  is  equally  removed  from  the  awkward- 
ness of  the  rustic,  with  toes  turned  in  and  knees  bent,  and  from  the  affectation 
of  the  dancing-master,  whose  position  runs  to  the  opposite  extreme.  The 
orator  is  to  adopt  such  positions  only  as  consist  with  manly  and  simple  grace. 
The  toes  ar^  to  be  moderately  turned  outward,  but  not  to  be  constrained;  tha 
limbs  are  to  be  disposed  so  as  to  support  the  body  with  ease,  and  to  admit  ot 
flowing  and  graceful  movement.  The  sustaining  foot  is  to  be  planted  firmly  i 
the  leg  braced,  but  not  contracted;  the  other  foot  and  limb  must  press  lightly, 
and  be  held  relaxed,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  immediate  change  and  action.  In 
changing  the  positions  of  the  feet,  the  motions  are  to  be  made  with  the  utmost 
simplicity,  and  free  from  the  parade  and  sweep  of  dancing.  The  speaker  must 
advance,  retirn,  or  change,  almost  imperceptibly;  and  it  is  to  be  particularly 
observed  that  changes  should  not  be  too  frequent.  Frequent  change  gives  the 
idea  of  anxiety  or  instability,  both  of  which  are  unfavorable."  Nothing  can  bf 
more  unbecoming  than  for  an  orator  to  be  constantly  tripping  from  one  si(.e 
4)0  the  other,  on  the  stand,  and  walking  so  fast  as  to  seem  to  outrun  his  speech 
Such  an  orator  was  said,  anciently,  to  run  after  a  cause,  instead  of  pleaduig 
it;  and  it  is  stated  of  Flavins  Virginius,  that  he  asked  a  speaker,  very  much 
addicted  to  this  habit,  how  many  miles  he  had  spoken  that  day.  Of  an  orator, 
whose  favorite  action  was  rising  on  tiptoe,  it  was  said,  that  he  must  have  been 
accustomed  to  address  his  audience  over  a  high  wall. 

The  bow  of  the  speaker  to  his  audience,  previous  to  his  speech,  should  be 
graceful  and  dignified;  as  far  removed  from  a  careless,  jerking  abruptness,  as 
from  a  formal  and  unnecessary  flourish. 

REGULATION  OF  THE  HANDS,  ARMS,  &C. 

In  Oratory,  the  regulation  of  the  hand  is  of  peculiar  importance,  not  only  as 
it  serves  to  express  passion,  but  to  mark  the  dependence  of  clauses,  and  to 
interpret  the  emphasis.  .  All  action  without  the  hand,  says  Qumtihan,  is  weak 
and  crippled.  The  expressions  of  the  hand  are  as  varied  as  language.  It 
demands,  promises,  calls,  dismisses,  threatens,  implores,  detests,  fears,  ques- 
tions, and  denies.  It  expresses  joy,  sorrow,  doubt,  acknowledgment,  depena- 
ence,  repentance,  number  and  time.  Yet,  the  hand  may  be  so  employed  as 
not  only  to  become  an  unmeaning,  but  an  inconvenient  appendage.  One 
speaker  may  raise  his  hands  so  high  that  he  cannot  readily  get  them  down. 
One,  cannot  take  them  from  his  bosom.  One,  stretches  them  above  his  head; 
and  another  lays  about  him  with  such  vigor,  that  it  is  dangerous  to  be 
within  his  reach.  .      .  j    t  ij 

In  using  the  arms,  a  speaker  should  give  his  action  in  curves,  and  should 
bear  in  mind  that  different  situations  call  for  more  or  less  motion  of  the  limbs. 
The  fingers  of  the  hand  should  not  be  kept  together,  as  if  it  were  intended  by 
nature  that  they  should  unite;  nor  should  they  be  held  forth  unmeaningly, 
Uke  a  bunch  of  radishes;  but  they  should  be  easily  and  naturally  bent.  _ 

Tlie  speaker  who  truly  feels  his  subject  will  feel  it  to  his  very  finger-tips, 
%ud  these  last  will  take  unconsciously  the  right  bend  or  motion,  btudy  weU, 
therefore,  what  you  have  to  say,  and  be  prepared  to  say  it  m  earnest.  _ 

The  hand  and  arm  should  usually  be  moved  gracefully  m  semi-circlea, 
♦xcept  m  indicative  j^assages,  as  thus  :  "  X  charm  thy  life  !  Lord  Cardi 
nai,  to  you  I  «peak  !  "  To  lay  down  rules  as  to  how  fixr  the  arms  may  be 
extended,  or  to  what  elevation  the  hand  may  be  raised,  would  be  superfluous. 
A  speaker  should  avoid  throwing  his  arms  up,  as  if  he  were  dettermined  tc 
fling  them  from  him;  and  he  should  avoid  letting  them  fall  with  a  vicleno* 
•ufitcijnt  to  bruise  his  thigh;  yet  it  is  mdispensable  that  the  arm  shouW  &U 
|.U(i  that  it  shoul"'  not  remain  pinioned  to  +he  side. 


MODES  OF  IMPHOTING  THE  VOICE 


ft  is  as  esgeitial  for  a  speaker  to  endeavor,  by  his  appearance  and  manner, 
to  please  the  eye,  as  by  his  tones  to  please  the  ear.  His  dress  sh)uld  be  decent 
Mid  unaffected.  His  position  should  be  easy  and  graceful.  If  he  stand  in  a 
perfectly  perpendicular  posture,  an  auditor  would  naturally  say,  "  He  looks 
hke  a  post."  If  the  hands  work  in  direct  lines,  it  will  give  him  the  appear, 
ance  of  a  two-handled  pump.  The  first  point  to  be  attained  is  to  avoid  awk 
ward  habits  :  such  as  resting  the  chief  weight  of  the  body  first  on  one  foot  and 
then  on  the  other;  swinging  to  and  fro;  jerking  forward  the  upper  part  of 
the  body,  at  every  emphatic  word;  keeping  the  elbows  pinioned  to  the  sides; 
and  sawing  the  air  with  one  hand,  with  one  unvaried  and  ungraceful  motion. 
A3  gesture  is  used  for  the  illustration  and  enforcement  of  language,  sc  it 
should  be  limited,  in  its  application,  to  such  words  and  passages  as  admit  of  or 
require  it.  A  judicious  speaker  will  not  only  adapt  the  general  style  and 
manner  of  his  action  to  the  subject,  the  place,  and  the  occasion,  but  even 
when  he  allows  himself  the  greatest  latitude,  he  will  reserve  his  gesture,  or,  at 
least,  the  force  and  ornament  of^.it,  for  those  parts  of  his  discourse  for  which 
he  also  reserves  his  boldest  thoughts  and  his  most  brilliant  expressions. 

As  the  head  gives  the  chief  grace  to  the  person,  so  does  it  principally  con- 
tribute to  the  expression  of  grace  in  delivery.  It  must  be  held  in  an  erect  and 
natural  position.  For,  when  drooped,  it  is  expressive  of  humilitv  •  when  turned 
upwards,  of  arrogance;  when  inclined  to  one  side,  it  expresses  languor;  and 
when  stiff  and  rigid,  it  indicates  a  lack  of  ease  and  self-possession.  Its  move- 
ments should  be  suited  to  the  character  of  the  delivery;  they  should  accord  with 
the  gesture,  and  fall  in  with  the  action  of  the  hands,  and  the  motions  of  the 
body.  The  eyes,  which  are  of  the  utmost  consequence  in  aiding  the  expres- 
sion of  the  orator,  are  generally  to  be  directed  as  the  gesture  points;  except 
when  we  have  occasion  to  condemn,  or  refuse,  or  to  require  any  object  to  be 
removed;  on  which  occasion,  we  should  at  the  same  moment  express  aver- 
sion in  our  countenance,  and  reject  by  our  gesture  A  listless,  inanimate 
expression  of  countenance,  will  always  detract  from  the  effect  of  the  most 
eloquent  sentiments,  and  the  most  appropriate  utterance. 

TRAINING  AND  STRENGTHENING  THE  VOICE. 

In  order  to  read  and  speak  well,  it  is  necessary  to  have  all  the  vocal 
elements  under  complete  command,  so  that  they  may  be  duly  applied  when- 
ever they  are  required  for  the  vivid  and  elegant  delineation  of  the  sense  and 
sentiment  of  discourse.  The  student,  therefore,  should  first  practise  on  the 
thirty-five  alphabetic  elements,  in  order  to  insure  a  true  and  easy  execution 
of  their  unmixed  sounds.  This  will  be  of  more  use  than  pronouncing  words 
in  which  they  occur;  for,  when  pronounced  singly,  the  elements  will  receive  a 
concentration  of  the  organic  effort,  which  will  give  them  a  clearness  of  sound 
and  a  definite  outline,  if  we  may  so  speak,  at  their  extremes,  making  a  fine 
preparation  for  their  distinct  and  forcible  pronunciation  in  the  compounds  of 
speech.  He  should  then  take  one  or  more  of  the  compound  sounds,  and  carry  it 
through  all  the  degrees  of  the  diatonic  and  concrete  scales,  both  in  an  upward 
and  a  downward  direction,  and  through  the  principal  forms  of  the  wave.  Ho 
should  next  take  some  one  familiar  sentence,  and  practise  upon  it  with  every 
variety  of  intonation  of  which  it  will  admit.  He  should  afterwards  run  through 
the  various  vocal  keys,  and  the  forms  of  the  cadence;  and,  lastly,  he  should 
recite,  with  all  the  force  that  he  can  command,  some  passage  which  requires 
great  exertion  of  the  voice.  If  he  would  acquire  power  and  volume  of  utter- 
ance, he  must  practise  in  the  open  air,  with  his  face  to  the  wind,  his  body 
perfectly  erect,  his  chest  expanded,  his  tongue  retracted  and  depressed,  and 
the  cavity  of  his  mouth  as  much  as  possible  enlarged;  and  it  is  almost  unnec- 
«8_sa,ry  to  add,  that  anything  which  improves  the  general  tone  of  the  health 
«nU  proportionably  affect  the  voice.  If  to  this  elementary  practice  the  student 
Wd  a  earef"!}  and  discriminating  analysis  of  some  of  the  best  pieces  which  our 


^6 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


language  oontains,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  and  if  he  strenuousTj  cr  dca^w  U 
apply  to  them  all  the  scientific  principles  which  he  has  learned,  there  can  b« 
no  doubt  that  he  will  acquire  a  manner  of  delivery  which  will  do  ampk 
'ustice  to  any  subject  on  which  he  may  be  called  to  exercise  his  voeai 
Oowers. 

In  all  reading  and  public  speaking,  the  management  of  the  breath  rcquire« 
great  car3,  so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  divide  words  from  one  another  which 
have  su  intipaate  a  connection  that  they  ought  to  be  pronounced  in  th®  sam« 
breath,  and  without  the  least  separation.  Many  sentences  are  marred,  and  th« 
force  of  the  emphasis  totally  lost,  by  divisions  being  made  in  the  wrong  place. 
To  avoid  this,  every  one,  while  he  is  reading  or  speaking,  should  be  careful  to 
provide  a  full  supply  of  breath  for  what  he  is  to  utter.  It  is  a  great  mistake 
to  imagine  that  the  breath  must  be  drawn  only  at  the  end  of  a  period,  when 
the  voice  is  allowed  to  fall.  It  may  easily  be  gathered  at  intervals  of  the 
period,  when  the  voice  is  only  suspended  for  a  moment;  and,  by  this  manage- 
ment, we  may  have  always  a  sufficient  stock  for  carrying  on  the  longest 
sentence,  without  improper  interruptions. 

The  importance  of  a  skilful  management  of  the  breath  in  utterance  will  be 
made  apparent  by  a  little  practice.  It  is  a  good  exercise  for  the  pupil  to 
repeat  the  cardinal  numbers  rapidly  up  to  twenty,  inhaling  a  full  breath  at  the 
commencement.  He  may,  by  practice,  make  his  breath  hold  out  till  he  reaches 
forty  and  more,  enunciating  every  syllable  distinctly.  • 

It  must  always  be  part  of  a  healthful  physiological  regimen  to  exercise  the 
voice  daily,  in  reading  or  speaking  aioud.  The  habit  of  Demosthenes,  of  walk- 
ing by  the  sea-shore  and  shouting,  was  less  important,  in  accustoming  him  tc 
the  sound  of  a  multitude,  than  in  developing  and  strengthening  his  vocal 
organs.  The  pupil  will  be  astonished  to  find  how  much  his  voice  will  gain 
in  power  by  daily  exercise.  "  Reading  aloud  and  recitation,"  says  Andrew 
Combe,  "  are  more  useful  and  invigorating  muscular  exercises  thaa  is  gene- 
rally imagined;  at  least,  when  managed  with  due  regard  to  the  natural  powers 
of  the  individual,  so  as  to  avoid  effort  and  fatigue.  Both  require  the  varied 
activity  of  most  of  the  muscles  of  the  trunk  to  a  degree  of  which  few  are 
conscious  till  their  attention  is  turned  to  it.  In  forming  and  undulating  the 
voice,  not  only  the  chest,  but  also  the  diaphragm  and  abdominal  muscles,  are  in 
constant  action,  and  communicate  to  the  stomach  and  bowels  a  healthy  and 
agreeable  stimulus." 

Btow  doubly  important  does  the  judicious  and  methodical  exercise  of  the 
7oice  thus  become  to  him  who  would  make  it  at  once  an  effective  instrument 
of  conveying  truth  to  his  fellow-men,  and  of  improving  his  own  physical 
itrength  and  capacity  ! 


EXPLANATORY  MARKS 

The  length  of  a  vowel  is  indicated  by  a  horizontal  Une^  (-)  ever  it;  aa,  ^ 
tatlnus.    Its  shortness  is  marked  by  a  curve  (" ) ;  as,  Regulus. 

If  two  vowels,  which,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  form  a  diphthong,  or  ar« 
Ukely  to  be  fused  together  in  their  utterance,  are  to  be  pronounced  separately 
the  second  is  marked  with  (")  ;  that  is,  a  diajresis;  as,  atrial.  This  rul« 
is  not  always  observed  in  familiar  instances.  ,  •  i.  • 

The  acute  accent  (')  is  employed  to  indicate  that  the  vowel  over  which  it 
»  placed  is  not  merged  in  the  preceding  syllable  ;  as,  blessed,  Tempe ;  th« 
accent  showing  that  these  words  are  to  be  pronounced  in  two  syllablea.  In 
poetry,  the  past  participle,  which  in  prose  is  in  one  syllable,  often  has  to  M 
pronounced  in  two,  to  preserve  the  harmony  of  the  verse. 


THE 


STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


PART  FIRST. 


MOKAL  AND  DIDACTIC. 


1.  TRUTH  THE  OBJECT  OF  ALL  &TVJ)mS.  —  Original  Translation 

The  supreme  want,  as  well  as  the  supreme  blessing  of  man,  is  tru!  a. 
7es,_ truth  in  religion,  which,  in  giving  us  pure  and  exalted  ideas  of  the 
Divinity,  teaches  us,  at  the  same  time,  to  render  Him  the  most  worthy' 
and  intelligent  homage ;  —  truth  in  morals,  which  indicates  their  duties 
t{»  all  classes,  at  once  without  rigor  and  without  laxity ;  —  truth  in 
politics,  which,  in  making  authority  more  just  and  the  people  more 
acquiescent,  saves  governments  from  the  passions  of  the  multitude,  and 
the  m altitude  from  the  tyranny  of  governments  ;  —  truth  in  our  legal 
tribunals,  which  strikes  Vice  with  consternation,  reassures  Innocence, 
and  accomplishes  the  triumph  of  Justice ;  —  trutli  in  education,  which,' 
bringing  the  conduct  of  instructors  into  accordance  with  their  teachino-' 
exhibits  them  as  the  models  no  less  than  the  masters  of  infancy  and 
youth  ;  —  truth  in  literature  and  in  art,  which  preserves  them  from 
the  contagion  of  bad  taste,  from  false  ornaments  as  well  as  false 
thoughts  ;  —  truth  in  the  daily  commerce  of  life,  which,  in  banishing 
fraud  and  imposture,  establishes  the  common  security ;  —  truth  in 
everything,  truth  before  everything,  —  this  is,  in  effect,  what  the  whole 
human  race,  at  heart,  solicit.  Yes,  all  men  have  a  consciousness,  that 
truth  is  ever  beneficent,  and  falsehood  ever  pernicious. 

And,  indeed,  when  none  but  true  doctrines  shall  be  universally 
inculcated,  —  when  they  shall  have  penetrated  all  hearts,  —  when  they 
shall  animate  every  order  of  society,  —  if  they  do  not  arrest  all  exut- 
ing  evils,  they  will  have,  at  least,  the  advantage  of  arresting  a  great 
many.  They  will  be  prolific  in  generous  sentiments  and^  virtuou? 
actions ,  and  the  world  will  perceive  that  truth  is,  to  the  body  sucial. 
a  principle  of  life.  ^  But,  if,  on  the  other  hand,  error,  in  matters  of 
uapital  import,  obtain  dominion  in  the  minds  of  men,  —  especially  of 
those  who  are  called  to  serve  as  guides  and  models,  —  it  will  mislead 
and  confound  them,  and,  in  corrupting  their  thoughts,  sentiments  an«i 
wU,  it  will  ^ecome  a  principle  of  dissolution  and  death. 


38 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


2.   IMMORrALlTY.  —  Original  Translation  from  Massillon. 

Juan  3aptiste  Massillon,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  preachers  of  any  age,  was  bom  in  Pit* 
ence,  France,  in  1663.  lie  became  so  celebrated  for  his  eloquence,  that  he  was  called  to  Paris 
(There  he  drew  crowds  of  hearers.    In  1717,  he  was  made  Bishop  of  Clermont ;  and  died,  1743- 

If  we  wholly  perish  with  the  body,  what  an  imposture  is  this  whok 
system  of  laws,  manners  and  usages,  on  which  human  society  is  foitinded ! 
[f  vfQ  wholly  perish  with  the  body,  these  maxims  of  charity,  patience, 
Justice,  honor,  gratitude  and  friendship,  which  sages  have  taught  and 
good  men  have  nractised,  what  are  they  but  empty  words,  possessing 
0.0  real  and  binding  efficacy?  Why  should  we  heed  them,  if  in  this  life 
only  we  have  hope  ?  Speak  not  of  duty.  What  can  we  owe  to  the 
dead,  to  the  living,  to  ourselves,  if  all  are,  or  will  be,  nothing  ?  Who 
shall  dictate  our  duty,  if  not  our  own  pleasures,  —  if  not  our  own 
passions  ?  Speak  not  of  morality.  It  is  a  mere  chimera,  a  bugbear 
of  human  invention,  if  retribution  terminate  with  the  grave. 

If  we  must  wholly  perish,  what  to  us  are  the  sweet  ties  of  kindred  ? 
what  the  tender  names  of  parent,  child,  sister,  brother,  husband,  wife,, 
or  friend  ?  The  characters  of  a  drama  are  not  more  illusive  We 
have  no  ancestors,  no  descendants ;  since  succession  cannot  be  predi- 
cated of  nothingness.  Would  we  honor  the  illustrious  dead  ?  How 
absurd  to  honor  that  which  has  no  existence !  Would  we  take  thought 
for  posterity  ?  How  frivolous  to  concern  ourselves  for  those  whose 
end,  like  our  own,  must  soon  be  annihilation  !  Have  we  made  a 
promise  ?  How  can  it  bind  nothing  to  nothing  ?  Perjury  is  but  a 
jest.  The  last  injunctions  of  the  dying,  —  what  sanctity  have  they 
more  than  the  last  sound  of  a  chord  that  is  snapped,  of  an  instru- 
ment that  is  broken  ? 

To  sum  up  all  :  If  we  must  wholly  perish,  then  is  obedience  to  the 
laws  but  an  insensate  servitude  ;  rulers  and  magistrates  are  but  tne 
phantoms  which  popular  imbecility  has  raised  up  ;  justice  is  an  un- 
warrantable infringement  upon  the  liberty  of  men,  —  an  imposition,  a^n 
usurpation  ;  the  law  of  marriage  is  a  vain  scruple  ;  modesty,  a  prej- 
udice ;  honor  and  probity,  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of ;  and 
incests,  murders,  parricides,  the  most  heartless  cruelties,  and  the  black- 
est crimes,  are  but  the  legitimate  sports  of  man's  irresponsiole  nature ; 
while  the  harsh  epithets  attached  to  them  are  merely  such  as  the 
policy  of  legislators  has  invented,  and  imposed  on  the  credulity  of  the 
pooplo. 

Here  is  the  issue  to  which  the  vaunted  philosophy  of  unbeliever 
must  inevitably  lead.  Here  is  that  social  felicity,  that  sway  of  rea- 
won,  that  emancipation  from  error,  of  which  they  eternally  prate,  as 
the  fruit  of  their  doctrines.  Accept  their  maxims,  and  the  whole 
world  falls  back  into  a  frightful  chaos  ;  and  all  the  relations  of  l-ife 
are  confounded ;  and  all  ideas  of  vice  and  virtue,  are  reversed  ;  and 
the  most  inviolable  laws  of  society  vanish  ;  and  all  moral  disciplin« 
perishes;  and  the  government  of  states  and  nations  has  no  longoi 
any  cement  to  uphold  it ;  and  all  the  harmony  of  the  body  politin 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  RUSKIN. 


becomes  discord  ;  and  the  human  race  is  no  more  thai  an  :jsseniblag€ 
>jf  reckless  barbarians,  shameless,  remorseless,  brutal,  denaturalized, 
with  no  other  law  than  force,  no  other  check  than  passion,  no  other 
bond  than  irreligion,  no  other  God  than  self!  Such  would  be  th© 
world  which  impiety  would  make.  Such  would  be  this  world,  wcm 
ft  i>ftlief  in  God  and  immortality  to  die  out  of  the  human  heart. 


3.  THE  UTILITY  OP  THE  BEAUHIYVL.  —  Jokn  Eusktn. 

Man's  use  and  function  —  and  let  him  who  will  not  grant  mc 
this  follow  me  no  further  —  is  to  be  the  witness  of  the  glory  of  God, 
and  to  advance  that  glory  by  his  reasonable  obedience  and  resultant 
happiness.  Whatever  enables  us  to  fulfil  this  function  is,  in  the  pure 
ind  first  sense  of  the  word,  useful  to  us.  And  yet  people  speak,  ii 
this  working  age,  as  if  houses,  and  lands,  and  food,  and  raiment,  were 
done  useful ;  and,  as  if  sight,  thought  and  admiration,  were  all  profit- 
less :  so  that  men  insolently  call  themselves  Utilitarians,  who  would 
turn,  if  they  had  their  way,  themselves  and  their  race  into  vegetables; 
men  who  think,  as  far  as  such  can  be  said  to  think,  that  the  meat  is 
more  than  the  life,  and  the  raiment  than  the  body ;  who  look  to  thf 
earth  as  a  stable,  and  to  its  fruit  as  fodder  ;  vine-dressers  and  hus 
bandmen,  who  love  the  corn  they  grind,  and  the  grapes  they  crush, 
Detter  than  the  gardens  of  the  angels  upon  the  slopes  of  Eden  ;  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water,  who  think  that  the  wood  they  hew,  and 
the  water  they  draw,  are  better  than  the  pine-forests  that  cover  the 
mountains  like  the  shadow  of  God,  and  than  the  great  rivers  that  move 
like  His  eternity.  And  so  comes  upon  us  that  woe  of  the  preacher, 
that  though  God  "  hath  made  everything  beautiful  in  his  time,  also 
He  hath  set  the  world  in  their  heart,  so  that  no  man  can  find  out  the 
work  that  God  maketh  from  the  beginning  to  the  end." 

This  Nebuchadnezzar  curse,  that  sends  us  to  grass  like  oxen,  seems 
to  follow  but  too  closely  on  the  excess  or  continuance  of  national  power 
and  peace.  In  the  perplexities  of  nations,  in  their  struggles  for  exist- 
ence,—  in  their  infancy,  their  impotence,  or  even  their  disorganization, 
—  they  have  higher  hopes  and  nobler  passions.  Out  of  the  suffering 
(X)mes  the  serious  mind ;  out  of  the  salvation,  the  grateful  heart ;  out 
of  the  endurance,  the  fortitude  ;  out  of  the  deliverance,  the  faith. 
Deep  though  the  causes  of  thankfulness  must  be  to  every  people  at 
peace  with  others  and  at  unity  in  itself,  there  are  causes  of  fear  also,' — 
a  fear  greater  than  of  sword  and  sedition,  —  that  dependence  on  Goi 
may  be  forgotten,  because  the  bread  is  given  and  the  water  is  sure ; 
fchat  gratitude  to  Him  may  cease,  because  His  constancy  of  protectiou 
has  taken  the  semblance  of  a  natural  law ;  that  heavenly  hope  maj 
grow  faint  amidst  the  full  fruition  of  the  world  ;  thar  selfishness  maif 
take  place  of  undemanded  devotion,  compassion  be  lost  in  vain-glory 
and  love  in  dissimulation ;  that  enervation  may  succeed  to  strength 
•ipathy  tG  patience,  and  the  noise  of  jesting  words  and  the  foulness  oi 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


daik  thoughts  to  the  earnest  purity  of  the  girded  loins  and  the  hum 
iiig  lamp.  Let  us  beware  that  our  rest  become  not  the  rest  of  stoneak 
which,  so  long  as  they  are  torrent-tossed  and  thunder-stricken,  main 
tain  their  majesty,  but,  when  the  stream  is  silent,  and  the  storni  passed^ 
mffer  the  grass  to  cover  them  and  the  lichen  to  feed  on  them,  4ud  are 
ploughed  down  into  dust. 


4.  THE  WORLD  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN.  —  Thomas  Noon  Talfourdt. 

Existence  has  become  almost  a  different  thing  since  it  began  with 
some  of  us.  It  then  justified  its  old  similitude  of  a  journey,  —  it  quick- 
ened with  intellect  into  a  march;  it  is  now  whirling  with  science  and 
speculation  into  a  flight.  Space  is  contracted  and  shrivelled  up  like  a 
scroll.  Time  disdains  its  old  relations  to  distance.  The  intervals 
between  the  "  flighty  purpose  "  and  the  "  deed  "  are  almost  annihi- 
lated  ;  and  the  national  mind  must  either  glow  with  generous  excite- 
ment, or  waste  in  fitful  fever.  How  important,  then,  is  it,  that 
throughout  our  land  the  spiritual  agencies  should  be  quickened  into 
kindred  activity  ;  that  the  few  minutes  of  leisure  and  repose  which 
may  be  left  us  should,  by  the  succession  of  those  "  thoughts  which 
wander  through  eternity,"  become  hours  of  that  true  time  which  is 
dialled  in  Heaven  ;  that  thought,  no  longer  circling  in  vapid  dream, 
but  im.pelled  right  onward  with  divine  energy,  should  not  only  out- 
speed  the  realized  miracles  of  steam,  but  the  divinest  visions  of  atmos- 
pheric prophecy,  and  still  "  keep  the  start  of  the  majestic  world  "  ! 

Mr.  Canning  once  boasted,  of  his  South  American  policy,  that  he 
had  "  called  a  new  world  into  existence,  to  balance  the  old."  Ee  it 
your  nobler  endeavor  to  preserve  the  balance  even  between  the  world 
within  us  and  the  world  without  us  ;  not  vainly  seeking  to  retard  the 
life  of  action,  but  to  make  it  steady  by  Contemplation's  innnorta. 
freightage.  Then  may  we  exult,  as  the  chariot  of  humanity  flies 
onward,  with  safety  in  its  speed,  —  for  we  shall  discover,  like  Ezekiei 
of  old,  in  prophetic  vision,  the  spirit  in  its  wheels. 

All  honor,  then,  to  those  who,  amid  the  toils,  the  cares,  and  the 
excitements,  of  a  season  of  transition  and  struggle,  would  rescue  the 
golden  hours  of  the  youth  around  them  from  debasing  pleasures  and 
more  debasing  sloth,  and  enable  them  to  set  to  the  world,  in  a  great 
crisis  of  .  its  moral  condition,  this  glorious  example  of  intellectual  cour- 
Ige  and  progress ! 

6   THE  MECHANICAL  EPOCH.  —  Hon.  John  P.  Kennedy. 

The  world  is  now  entering  upon  the  Mechanical  Epoch.  There  ie 
QOthing  in  the  future  more  sure  than  the  great  triumphs  which  that 
«poch  'is  to  achieve.  It  has  already  advanced  to  some  glorious  con 
quests.  What  miracles  of  mechanical  invention  already  crowd  upon 
OS  '    Look  abroad,  and  contemplate  the  infinite  achievements  of  th« 


MJEAL  AND  7>IDACTIC.  —  AKENSIDE. 


4 


steam  power.  Reflect  a  moment  on  all  that  has  been  done  by  the 
railroad.  Pause  to  estimate,  if  you  can,  with  all  the  help  of  imagm&. 
lion,  what  is  to  result  from  the  agency  now  manifested  in  the  oper- 
ations  of  the  telegraph.  Cast  a  thought  over  the  who.e  field  of 
scientific  mechanical  improvement  and  its  application  to  human  wants, 
m  the  last  twenty  years,  —  to  go  no  further  back,  — and  think  what  a 
world  it  has  made ;  —  how  many  comforts  it  has  given  to  man,  how 
Jiany  facilities  ;  what  it  has  done  for  his  food  and  raiment,  for  km 
communication  with  his  fellow-man  in  every  clime,  for  his  instructioD 
.n  books,  his  amusements,  his  safety !  —  what  new  lands  it  has  opened, 
»vhat  old  ones  made  accessible  !  —  how  it  has  enlarged  the  sphere  of' 
^is  knowledge  and  conversancy  with  his  species  !  It  is  all  a  great, 
astounding  marvel,  a  miracle  which  it  oppresses  the  mind  to  think  of. 
It  is  the  smallest  boast  which  can  be  made  for  it  to  say  that,  in  ail 
desirable  facilities  in  life,  in  the  comfort  that  depends  upon  mechanism, 
and  in  all  that  is  calculated  to  delight  the  senses  or  instruct  the  mind, 
the  man  of  this  day,  who  has  secured  himself  a  moderate  competence, 
IS  placed  far  in  advance  of  the  most  wealthy,  powerful  and  princely 
of  ancient  times,  —  might  I  not  say,  of  the  times  less  than  a  century 
gone  by  ? 

And  yet  we  have  only  begun  ;  —  we  are  but  on  the  threshold  of 
this  epoch.  A  great  celebration  is  now  drawing  to  a  close, —  the  cel- 
ebration, by  all  nations,  of  the  new  era.  A  vast  multitude  of  alj 
peoples,  nations  and_tongues,  has  been,  but  yesterday,  gathered  under 
a  magnificent  crystal  palace,  in  the  greatest  city  of  the  world,  to 
illustrate  and  distinguish  the  achievements  of  art,  —  no  less,  also,  to 
dignify  and  exalt  the  great  mechanical  fraternity  who  have  filled  that 
palace  with  wonders.  Is  not  this  fact,  of  itself,  charged  with  a 
volume  of  comment  ?  What  is  it  but  the  setting  of  the  great  distinct- 
ive seal  upon  the  nineteenth  century?  —  an  advertisment  of  the  fact 
that  society  has  risen  to  occupy  a  higher  platform  than  ever  before  ? 
--a  proclamation  from  the  high  places,  announcing  honor,  honor 
immortal,  to  the  workmen  who  fill  this  world  with  beauty,  comfort  and 
power ;  honor  to  be  forever  embalmed  in  history,  to  be  perpetuated  in 
monuments,  to  be  written  in  the  hearts  of  this  and  succeeding  geri- 


6.  THE  MIND  OF  MAIH.  —  Mark  Afcenside.    Born,  1121  i  died^im 

Say,  why  was  man  so  eminently  raised 
Amid  the  vast  creation,  —  why  ordained 
Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  piercing  eye. 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame,  —  ' 
But  that  th'  Omnipotent  might  send  him  forth 
In  sight  of  mortal  and  immortal  Powers, 
As  on  a  boundless  theatre,  to  run 
I'he  great  career  of  justice  ;  to  exalt 
His  geuerous  ^im  to  all  diviner  deeds  * 


♦2 


THE  STANJ>i^,<0  SPEiKm 


To  chase  eacfi  partial  purpose  from  his  breast, 
And  through  the  mists  of  Passion  and  of  Sense, 
And  through  the  tossing  tides  of  Chance  and  Pain, 
To  hold  his  course  unfaltering,  while  the  voice 
Of  Truth  and  Virtue,  up  the  steep  ascent 
Of  Nature,  calls  him  to  his  high  reward, 
The  applauding  smile  of  Heaven  ?    The  high-born  i05l 
Disdains  to  rest  her  Heaven-aspiring  wing 
Beneath  its  native  quarry.    Tired  of  earth 
And  this  diurnal  scene,  she  springs  aloft 
Through  fields  of  air  ;  pursues  the  flying  storm  ; 
Rides  on  the  volleyed  lightning  through  the  Heavens 
Or,  yoked  with  whirlwinds  and  the  Northern  blast, 
Sweeps  the  long  tract  of  Day. 

Mind,  Mind  alone  (bear  witness,  Earth  and  Heaven*^ 

The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 

Of  beauteous  and  sublime  :  here,  hand  in  hand, 

Sit  paramount  the  Graces ;  here,  enthroned. 

Celestial  Venus,  with  divinest  airs. 

Invites  the  Soul  to  never-fading  joy. 

Look,  then,  abroad  through  Nature,  to  the  rangt 
Of  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres, 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense , 
And  speak,  C  man  !  does  this  capacious  scene 
With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 
Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  Brutus  rose 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Caesar's  fate, 
Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots,  and  his  arm 
Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove, 
When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 
And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail  ? 
For  lo  !  the  tyrant  prostrate  in  the  dust, 
And  Rome  again  is  free  ! 


7.  THE  TRUE  TO-DAY  —H.  Withington.    Born,  1818  ;  diei,  1848. 

All  that  there  is  in  what  we  call  To-day  is  in  the  life  of  thougnt 
thought  is  the  spirit's  breath.  To  think  is  to  live  ;  for  he  who  thinki 
not  has  no  sense  of  life.  Wouldst  thou  make  the  most  of  life.  — 
wouldst  thou  have  the  joy  of  the  present,  —  let  Thought's  invisible 
shuttles  weave  full  in  the  loom  of  Time  the  moment's  passing  threadfi. 
To  think  is  to  live  ;  but  with  how  many  are  these  passing  hours  as  so 
many  loose  filaments,  never  woven  together,  nor  gathered,  but  scat- 
tered, ravelling,  so  many  flying  ends,  confused  and  worthless  !  Time 
and  life,  unfilled  with  thought,  are  useless,  unenjoyed,  bringing  no 
ple;isure  for  the  present,  storing  no  good  for  future  neqd     To-da^  if 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC-  ENGLAND. 


43 


the  golden  chance,  wherewith  to  snatch  Thought's  blftssed  fniition,  - 
the  joy  of  the  Present,  the  hope  of  the  Future.  Thought  makes  tkt 
time  that  is,  and  thought  the  eternity  to  come  : 

"0  bright  presence  of  To-day,  let  me  wrestle  with  thee,  grarioiis  angel; 
I  will  not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  me;  bless  me,  then,  To-day  ' 
0  sweet  garden  of  To-day,  let  me  gather  of  thee,  precious  Eden; 
J  have  stolen  bitter  knowledge,  give  me  fruits  of  life  To-day. 

0  true  temple  of  To-day,  let  me  worship  in  thee,  glorious  Zion; 

1  find  none  other  place  nor  time  than  where  I  am  To-day. 

0  living  rescue  of  To-day,  let  me  run  into  thee,  ark  of  refuge; 

1  see  none  other  hope  nor  chance,  but  standeth  in  To-day. 

0  rich  banquet  of  To-day,  let  me  feast  upon  thee,  saving  manna; 

1  have  none  other  food  nor  store  but  daily  bread  To-day." 


8.  THE  DUELLIST'S  IlOmB..  — Bishop  England.    Born,  1786;  died,  1842. 

Honor  is  the  acquisition  and  preservation  of  the  dignity  of  om 
nature:  that  dignity  consists  in  its  perfection;  that  perfection  is 
round  in  observing  the  laws  of  our  Creator ;  the  laws  of  the  Creator 
are  the  dictates  of  reason  and  of  religion :  that  is,  the  observance  of 
what  He  teaches  us  by  the  natural  light  of  our  own  minds,  and  by 
the  special  revelations  of  His  will  manifestly  given.  They  both  con- 
cur in  teaching  us  that  individuals  have  not  the  dominion  of  the-^ 
own  lives  ;  otherwise,  no  suicide  would  be  a  criminal.  They  concur 
teaching  us  that  we  ought  to  be  amenable  to  the  laws  of  the  societ 
of  which  we  are  members ;  otherwise,  morality  and  honor  would  be 
consistent  with  the  violation  of  law  and  the  disturbance  of  the  social 
system.  ^  They  teach  us  that  society  cannot  continue  to  exist  where 
the  public^  tribunals  are  despised  or  undervalued,  and  the  redress  of 
injuries  withdrawn  from  the  calm  regulation  of  public  justice,  for  the 
purpose  of  being  committed  to  the  caprice  of  private  passion,  and  the 
execution  of  individual  ill-will ;  therefore,  the  man  of  honor  abides 
by  the  law  of  God,  reveres  the  statutes  of  his  country,  and  is  respect- 
ful and  amenable  to  its  authorities.  Such,  my  friends,  is  what  the 
reflecting  portion  of  mankind  has  always  thought  upon  the  subject  of 
honor.  This  was  the  honor  of  the  Greek ;  this  was  the  honor  of  the 
Roman ;  this  the  honor  of  the  Jew ;  this  the  honor  of  the  Gentile ; 
this,  too,  was  the  honor  of  the  Christian,  until  the  superstition  and 
barbarity  of  Northern  devastators  darkened  his  glory  and  degraded 
Uis  character. 

Man,  then,  has  not  power  over  his  own  life ;  much  less  is  he  jufjti- 
ged  in  depriving  another  human  being  of  life.  Upon  what  grcund 
can  he  who  engages  in  a  duel,  through  the  fear  of  ignonony,  lay 
claim  to  courage  ?  Unfortunate  delinquent !  Do  you  not  see  by  how 
many  lir.ks  your  victim  was  bound  to  a  multitude  of  others  ?  Does 
his  vain  and  idle  resignation  of  his  title  to  life  absolve  you  from  the 
enormous  claims  which  society  has  upon  you  for  his  services,  ~  his 
family  for  that  support,  of  which  you  have  robbed  them,  without  youi 
own  enrichment  ?    Go.  stand  over  that  body ;  call  back  tha^  sou. 


THE  feTANiARD  SPEAKEK. 


whicls  you  have  d  riven  ft-om  its  tenement ;  take  up  that  hand  whicfc. 
your  pride  refused  to  touch,  not  one  hour  ago.  You  have,  in  youf 
^ride  and  wrath,  usurped  one  prerogative  of  God.  You  hare  inflicted 
death.  At  least,  in  mercy,  attempt  the  exercise  of  another ;  breathe 
into  those  distended  nostrils,  —  let  your  brother  be  once  more  a  hving 
Boul !  Merciful  Father !  how  powerless  are  we  for  good,  but  how 
mighty  for,  evil !  Wretched  man  !  he  does  not  answer,  —  he  cannot 
rise.  All  your  efforts  to  make  him  breathe  are  vain.  His  soul  is 
already  in  the  presence  of  your  common  Creator.  Like  the  wretched 
Cain,  will  you  answer,  "  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  "  Why  do  you 
turn  away  from  the  contemplation  of  your  own  honorable  work  ? 
Yes,  go  as  far  as  you  will,  still  the  admonition  will  ring  in  your  ears : 
It  was  by  your  hand  he  fell!  The  horrid  instrument  of  death  is 
still  in  that  hand,  and  the  stain  of  blood  upon  your  soul.  Fly,  if  you 
will,  —  go  to  that  house  which  you  have  filled  with  desolation.  It  is 
the  shriek  of  his  widow,  —  they  are  the  cries  of  his  children,  —  the 
broken  sobs  of  his  parent ;  —  and,  amidst  the  wailings,  you  distinctly 
hear  the  voice  of  imprecation  on  your  own  guilty  head !  Will  your 
hmorable  feelings  be  content  with  this  ?  Have  you  now  had  ahun* 
d  tnt  and  gentlemanly  satisfaction  ? 


8.  DAY  CONCEALS  WHAT  NIGHT  REVEALS. P.  m'cAoZ. 

Vast  as  our  firmament  may  be,  has  it  boundaries,  or  does  it  stretch 
away  into  infinitude  ?  Are  those  awful  spaces,  that  surround  it  on 
every  side,  void,  empty,  —  or  are  they  tenanted  by  worlds  and  systems 
similar  to  our  own  ?  No  wonder  that  a  mind  like  Herschell's  should 
hayc  r ashed  to  the  conclusion  that  the  space  around  our  system  was  a 
vault,  in  whose  capacious  bosom  myriads  of  mighty  clusters  like  our 
own  universe  are  placed.  If  it  be  true  that  this  great  scheme  of  ours 
is  simply  that  which  Herschell  first  supposed  it,  but  still  a  great,  sep- 
arate, distinct  scheme,  whose  nature  is,  perhaps,  more  than  anything 
else,  represented  by  these  singular  Nebulae,  what  must  we  think  with 
regard  to  it  ?  Surely  it  is,  that  notwithstanding  its  innnense  difiusion, 
its  vast  confines,  the  great  space  through  which  its  different  portioas 
range,  there  must  lie  around  it,  on  every  side,  vast  untenanted  spaces ; 
and,  if  this  be  so,  may  it  not  be  that  amid  all  that  space,  also,  there 
are  floating  great  schemes  of  being  like  ours,  —  schemes,  I  fsay,  of 
different  shape,  of  different  character,  but  lying  in  these  vasi  regions 
of  space  like  ours,  —  schemes  quite  as  magnificent  as  that  vast  system 
to  which  we  ourselves  belong  ?  If  this  be  so,  what  a  conception,  in 
regard  to  the  material  universe,  must  press  itself  upon  our  notice  i 

How  strange  that  this  Universe  is  only  yet  cognizable  by  one  human 
sense !  that  the  veil  of  the  sun's  light  entirely  conceals  its  wonden 
from  our  view !  that,  had  the  light  of  that  Sun  not  been  veiUid  b^ 
the  curtain  of  night  we  had  lived  amid  it  and  never  have  known  of 
the  axiatence  of  the  Stellar  Universe !   May  it  not,  then,  be  trao,  thas 


MOKAI.  AND  DIDACTIC. 


^5 


during  midnight,  wlf.en  these  infinite  orbs  apjy  ai*  to  \m  from  thoii 
anmeasured  depths, --may  it  not  be  true  that  through  ^eOs  as  thiu, 
we  are  withheld  now  from  the  consciousness  of  other  Universes,  vasj 
even  aa  the  world  of  stars  ?  But,  in  reference  to  an  idea  sc  lofty,  le* 
me  use  the  lanmiao-e  of  a  crreat  mind : 

o     o  o 

"  Mysterious  Night  ?  when  our  first  parent  knew 

Thee  by  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name. 

Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

^his  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  '] 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

loathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  Qacno, 

Hesperus  and  the  hosts  of  Heaven  came. 

And,  lo  !  Creation  widened  in  man's  \'iew. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 

Within  thy  beams,  0  Sun  !  or  who  could  find. 

Whilst  fly  and  leaf  and  insect  stood  revealed. 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind 

Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death  with  anxious  strife  1  — 

If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  why  may  not  Life  1 " 


10.  MAN'S  MATERIAL  TRIUMPHS.  —  Orig-ma/  Translation. 

When  we  contemplate  man  in  his  relations  to  the  rest  of  citation, 
how  lofty,  in  the  comparison,  appears  his  lot!  He  subdues  all  the  pow- 
ers of  nature.  He  combines  or  separates  them  according  to  his  wants- 
— according  to  his  caprices.  Master  of  the  earth,  he  covers  it  at  wiW 
with  cities,  with  villages,  with  monuments,  with  trees,  and  with  har- 
vests. He  forces  all  the  lower  animals  to  cultivate  it  for  him,  to  serve 
him  for  use  or  pastime,  or  to  disappear  from  his  domain.  Master  of 
the  sea,  he  floats  at  ease  over  its  unfathomed  abysses ;  he  places  dylces 
to  its  fury,  he  pillages  its  treasures,  and  he  makes  itss  waves  hia 
highway  of  transportation  from  clime  to  clime.  Master  of  the  ele- 
ments, fire,  air,  light,  water,  docile  slaves  of  his  sovereign  will,  are 
imprisoned  in  his  laboratories  and  manufactories,  or  harnessed  to  hie 
cars,  which  they  drag,  invisible  couriers,  swift  as  thought ! 

Wliat  grandeur  and  what  power,  in  a  n-ail  being  of  a  day,  a  hardly 
perceptible  atom  amid  that  creation,  over  which  he  acquires  such  em- 
pire !  And  yet  this  creature,  so  diminutive,  so  weak,  has  received  an 
intelligent  and  reasoning  soul ;  and,  alone,  among  all  the  rest,  enjoys 
the  amazing  privilege  of  deriving  from  the  Fountain  of  life  and  light 
an  intellectual  radiance,  in  the  midst  of  worlds  whose  glow  is  but  the 
pale  reflex  of  material  orbs.  The  empire  of  the  world  has  been  given 
to  him  because  his  spirit,  greater  than  the  world,  can  measure, 
a^lmire,  comprehend,  and  explain  it.  Nature  has  been  subjected  to 
him,  because  he  can  unveil  the  marvellous  mechanism  of  her  laws, 
penetrate  her  profoundest  secrets,  and  wrest  from  her  all  the  treasures 
which  she  holds  in  her  bosom.  Placed  at  such  a  height,  man  would 
'ndee^.  be  perilously  tempted; — giddy  and  dazzled,  he  wciild  forgel 

♦  J=  Blanco  Whit© 


46 


THE  STANDAEr  SPEAKER. 


the  adorable  Benefa^^tor,  who  had  made  him  so  great,  and  admire  ano 
adore  hinxself  as  the  principle  and  the  first  source  of  his  grandetir, 
but  that  Divine  Goodness  has  been  quick  to  secure  him  from  thh 
danger,  by  graving  in  his  being  a  law  of  dependence,  of  original  in- 
firmity, of  which  it  is  impossible  for  pride  itself  to  efface  the  celestial 
imprint. 

And  SO'  has  Nature  been  commissioned  to  render  up  her  secrets  and 
her  treasures  with  a  reluctant  hand,  one  by  one,  at  the  price  of  har- 
assing labors  and  profound  meditations ;  to  make  man  feel,  at  every 
movement,  that  if  she  is  obliged  to  succumb  to  his  desires,  she  yields 
less  to  his  will  than  to  his  exertions ;  —  a  sure  sign  of  his  dependence. 
And  so  shall  there  be  no  progress,  no  conquests  for  man,  which  are  no"t 
at  once  i  signal  proof  of  his  strength  and  his  weakness,  and  which  do 
not  bear  the  indelible  impress  at  once  of  his  power  and  his  insuffi- 
eieacy. 

11.  FORTITTTDE  AMID  TRIALS.  —  Anonymous. 

0,  NEVER  from  thy  tempted  heart 
Let  thine  integrity  depart ! 
When  Disappointment  fills  thy  cup, 
Undaunted,  nobly  drink  it  up ; 
Truth  will  prevail,  and  Justice  show 
Her  tardy  honors,  sure  though  slow. 

Bear  on  —  bear  bravely  on ! 

Bear  on !    Our  life  is  not  a  dream, 
Though  often  such  its  mazes  seem ; 
We  were  not  born  for  lives  of  ease, 
Ourselves  alone  to  aid  and  please. 
To  each  a  daily  task  is  given, 
A  labor  which  shall  fit  for  Heaven ; 
When  Duty  calls,  let  Love  grow  warm ;  — 
Amid  the  sunshine  and  the  storm, 
With  Faith  life's  trials  boldly  breast, 
And  come  a  conqueror  to  thy  rest. 

Bear  on  —  bear  bravely  on  ! 


12.  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  EUROPE  —  Original  Translation 
Prom  Victor  Hugo's  Presidential  Address  at  the  Peace  Congress,  1849. 

A  DAT  will  come  when  you,  France,  —  you,  Russia,  —  you,  /  t-aly 
—  yom,  England,  —  you,  Germany,  —  all  of  you.  Nations  of  tiw  Oon- 
.inent,  —  shall,  without  losing  your  distinctive  qualities  &nd  your 
glorious  individuality,  blend  in  a  higher  unity,  and  form  a  European 
fraternity,  even  as  Normandy,  Brittany,  Burgundy,  Lorraine,  Alsace,* 
%L  the  French  provinces,  have  blended  into  France    A  day  will  yyme 

♦  Pronounced  A^sasa. 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  HUGO.  47 

W'hen  war  shall  seem  as  absurd  and  impossible  between  Paris  iihd  Lon. 
ioD,  between  Petersbui^g  and  Berlin,  as  between  Rouen  *  and  Amiens  1 
between  Boston  and  Philadelphia.  A  day  will  come  when  bullet* 
%rid  bombs  shall  be  replaced  by  ballots,  by  the  universal  sufiVagcs  cf 
the  People,  by  the  sacred  arbitrament  of  a  great  sovereign  Senate 
which ^  shall  be  to  Eurcpe  what  the  Parliament  is  to  England,  what 
the  Diet  is  to  Germany,  what  the  Legislative  Assembly  is  to  France. 
A  day  will  come  when  a  cannon  shall  be  exhibited  in  our  museums, 
m  an  instrument  of  torture  is  now,  and  men  shall  marvel  that  such 
things  could  be.  A  day  will  come  when  shall  be  seen  those  two 
tmmense  groups,  the  United  States  of  America  and  the  United  State® 
of  Europe,  in  face  of  each  other,  extending  hand  to  hand  over  the 
ocean,  exchanging  their  products,  their  commerce,  their  industry  their 
arts,  their  genius,  —  clearing  the  earth,  colonizing  deserts,  and  ame- 
horating  creation,  under  the  eye  of  the  Creator. 

And,  for  that  day  to  arrive,  it  is  not  necessary  that  four  hundred 
years  should  pass :  for  we  live  in  a  fast  time ;  we  live  in  a  current  of 
events  and  of  ideas  the  most  impetuous  that  has  ever  swept  along  the 
iN  ations ;  and  at  an  epoch  when  a  year  may  sometimes  effect  the  work 
of  a  century     And  to  you  I  appeal,  —  French,  Elnglish,  Germans, 
Kussians,  bclaves,  Europeans,  Americans,  —  what  have  we  to  do  to 
hasten  the  coming  of  that  great  day  ?    Love  one  another  !    To  love 
one  another,  m  this  immense  work  of  pacification,  is  the  best  way  of 
aiding  God     For  God  wills  that  this  sublime  end  should  be  accom- 
plished.    And,  see,  for  the  attainment  of  it,  what,  on  all  sides,  He  is 
doing!    bee  what  discoveries  He  causes  to  spring  from  the  human 
brain,  all  tending  to  the  great  end  of  peace !    What  progress  !  What 
simplifications !    How  does  Nature,  more  and  more,  suffer  herself  to 
be  vanquished  by  man !    How  doe3  matter  become,  more  and  more 
the  slave  of  intelligence  and  the  servant  of  civilization  !    How  do  tht 
causes  of  war  vanish  with  the  causes  of  suffering !    How  are  remote 
Nations  brought  near  !    How  is  distance  abridged!    And  how  doe', 
this  abridgment  make  men  more  like  brothers  !    Thanks  to  railroads 
Europe  will  soon  be  no  larger  than  France  was  in  the  middle  ages' 
Jhanks  to  steamships,  we  now  traverse  the  ocean  more  easily  than  we 
could  the  Mediterranean  once  !    Yet  a  few  years  more,  and  the  elec- 
trie  thread  of  concord  shall  encircle  the  globe,  and  unite  the  world ' 

VVhen  1  consider  all  that  Providence  has  done  for  us,  and  all  that 
pditicians  nave  done  against  us,  a  melancholy  consideration  presents 
itsell  We  Jearn,  from  the  statistics  of  Europe,  that  she  now  spend, 
annua  I  Jy,  for  the  maintenance  of  her  armies,  the  sum  of  five  hundred 
millions  of  dollars.  If,  for  the  last  thirty-two  years,  this  enormous 
sum  had  been  expended  m  the  interests  of  peace,  -  America  n« can- 
while  aiding  Europe,  -  know  you  what  would  have  happened  ?  The 
^  of  he  world  would  have  been  changed.  Isthmuses  would  haw 
&eeo  cut  through;  rivers  would  have  been  channelled;  mountalni 
♦  Pronounced  Rooang.  ^  Ahmoeang, 


48 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


tunnelled.  Raili-oads  would  have  covered  the  two  ccnllft^nts.  The 
merchant  tonnage  of  the  world  would  have  increased  a  hundred-fold. 
There  would  be  nowhere  barren  plains,  nor  moors,  nor  marshes 
Cities  would  be  seen  where  now  all  is  still  a  solitude.  Harbors  would 
have  been  dug  where  shoals  and  rocks  now  threaten  navigation.  Asia 
would  be  i-aised  to  a  state  of  civilization.  Africa  would  be  restored 
to  man.  Abundance  would  flow  forth  fronx  every  side,  from  all  the 
veins  of  the  earth,  beneath  the  labor  of  the  whole  family  of  man ;  and 
uiisery  would  disappear  !  And,  with  misery,  what  would  also  disap. 
pear  ?  Revolutions.  Yes  ;  the  face  of  the  world  would  be  changed. 
]  nstead  of  destroying  one  another,  men  would  peacefully  people  the 
A'  iste  places  of  the  earth.  Instead  of  making  revolutions,  they  would 
establish  colonies.  Instead  of  bringing  back  barbarism  into  civi'iza- 
tioo,  they  would  carry  civilization  into  barbarism. 


(3,  THE  PEACE  CONGRESS  OF  THE  UNION.  —  ^dujurd  Z'verett.    June  llth,  1860. 

Among  the  great  ideas  of  the  age,  we  are  authorized  in  reckoning 
a  growing  sentim.ent  in  favor  of  peace.  An  impression  is  unquestion- 
ably gaining  strength  in  the  world,  that  public  war  is  no  less  reproach- 
ful to  our  Christian  civilization  than  the  private  wars  of  the  feudal 
ihieft  in  the  middle  ages.  A  Congress  of  Nations  begins  to  be  re- 
garded as  a  practicable  measure.  Statesmen,  and  orators,  and  phi- 
lanthropists, are  flattering  themselves  that  the  countries  of  Europe, 
which  have  existed  as  independent  sovereignties  for  a  thousand  years, 
and  have  never  united  in  one  movement  since  the  Crusades,  may  be 
Drought  into  some  community  of  action  for  this  end. 

They  are  calling  conventions,  and  digesting  projects,  by  which 
Empires,  Kingdoms,  and  Republics,  inhabited  by  different  races  of 
men,  —  tribes  of  Slavonian,  Teutonic,  Latin,  and  mixed  descent,  — 
speaking  different  languages,  believing  different  creeds,—  Greeks,  Cath- 
olics, and  Protestants,  men  who  are  scarcely  willing  to  live  on  the 
same  earth  with  each  other,  or  go  to  the  same  Heaven,  —  can  be  made 
to  agree  to  some  great  plan  of  common  umpirage.  If,  while  these 
sanguine  projects  are  pursued,  —  while  we  are  thinking  it  worth 
while  to  compass  sea  and  land  in  the  expectation  of  bringing  these 
jarring  nationalities  into  some  kind  of  union,  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to 
war,  — if,  I  say,  at  this  juncture,  the  People  of  these  thirty  Unit'id 
ferates,  most  of  which  are  of  the  average  size  of  a  European  King- 
dom, destined,  if  they  remain  a  century  longer  at  peace  with  each 
other,  to  equal  in  numbers  the  entire  population  of  Europe ;  States, 
which,  drawn  together  by  a  general  identity  of  descent,  language  and 
fiiith,  have  not  so  much  formed  as  grown  up  into  a  National  Confod- 
eration,  possessing  in  its  central  Legislature,  Executive  and  Judi 
diary,  an  efficient  tribunal  for  the  arbitration  and  decision  of  contro. 
rersies,  —  an  actual  Peace  Congress,  clothed  with  all  the  pcwers  of  a 
«)mmon  Constitution  and  law  and  with  a  jurisdiction  extending  t« 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  BECKWITH.  49 

the  individual  citizen  (which  this  projected  Congress  of  Nations  does 
liOt  even  hope  to  exercise),  —  if,  while  we  grasp  at  this  shadow  of  a 
Congress  of  Nations,  we  let  go  of  —  nay,  break  up,  and  scatter  to  the 
winds  —  this  substantia]  union,  fhis  real  Peace  Congress,  which,  for 
sixty  years,  has  kept  the  country,  with  all  its  conflictfng  elements,  in 
a  state  of  prosperity  never  before  equalled  in  the  world,  we  shall  com- 
mit a  folly  for  which  the  language  we  speak  has  no  name ;  against 
which,  if  we,  rational  beings,  should  fail  to  protest,  the  dumb  stones 
of  yonder  monument  would  immediately  cry  out  in  condeu)  nation  ' 


14.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE  ADVERSE  TO  WAR.^Jtex,.  ^.  C.  Beckwith. 

War  will  yet  cease  from  the  whole  earth ;  for  God  Himself  has  said 
it  shall.    As  an  infidel,  I  might  doubt  this ;  but  as  a  Christian,  I  can- 
not.   If  God  has  taught  anything  in  the  Bible,  He  has  taught  peace ; 
if  He  has  promised  anything  there,  He  has  promised  peace,  ultinjate 
peace,  to  the  whole  world ;  and,  unless  the  night  of  a  godless  scepticism 
should  settle  on  my  soul,  I  must  believe  on,  and  hope  on,  and  work  on, 
until  the  Nations,  from  pole  to  pole,  shall  beat  their  swords  into 
ploughshares,  their  spears  into  pruning-hooks,  and  learn  war  no 
more.  _  Yes,  Sir ;  I  see,  or  I  think  I  see,  the  dawn  of  that  coming  day. 
I  see  it  in  the  new  and  better  spirit  of  the  age.   I  see  it  in  the  Press 
the  Pulpit,  and  the  School.    I  see  it  in  every  factory,  and  steamship 
and  rail-car.    I  see  it  in  every  enterprise  of  Christian  benevolence 
and  reform.    I  see  it  in  all  the  means  of  general  improvement,  in 
all  the  good  influences  of  the  age,  now  at  work  over  the  whole  eartii, 
Y  es  ;  there  is  a  spirit  abroad  that  can  never  rest  until  the  war-demur) 
IS  hunted  frona  the  habitations  of  men.    The  spirit  that  is  now  push- 
ing its  enterprises  and  improvements  in  every  direction  ;  the  spirit  that 
is  unfurling  the  white  flag  of  commerce  on  every  sea,  and  bartering 
ite  commodities  in  every  port ;  the  spirit  that  is  laying  every  power 
of  nature,  as  well  as  the  utmost  resources  of  human  ingenuity,  under 
the  largest  contributions  possible,  for  the  general  welfare  of  mankind , 
the  spirit  that  hunts  out  from  your  cities'  darkest  alleys  the  outcast^ 
of  poverty  and  crime,  for  relief  and  reform ;  nay,  goes  down  into  the 
barred  and  bolted  dungeons  of  penal  vengeance,  and  brings  up  its 
sallous,  haggard  victims,  into  the  sunlight  of  a  love  that  pities  even 
wlule  i1  smites ;  the  spirit  that  is  everywhere  rearing  hospitals  for 
the  S7ck  retreatf  for  the  insane,  and  schools  that  all  but  teach  the 
du^b  tc  speak,  the  deaf  to  hear,  and  the  blind  to  see ;  the  spirit 
that  harnesses  the  fire-horse  in  his  iron  gear,  and  sends  him  pant- 
ing, with  hot  but  unwearied  breath,  across  empires,  and  continents, 
and  sea£ ;  the  spirit  that  catches  the  very  lightning  of  Heaven,  and 
makes  it  bear  messages,  swift,  almost,  as  thought,  from  city  to  citv. 
trom  country  to  country,  round  the  globe ;  the  spirit  that  subsidizes 
all  these  to  the  godlike  work  of  a  world's  salvation,  and  employs  thein 
to  scatter  the  blessed  truths  of  the  Gospel,  thick  as  leaves  of  autuu^u, 
4 


50 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


or  dew-drops  of  morning,  all  over  the  earth;  the  spirit  that  is  at 
bngth  weaving  the  sympathies  and  interests  of  car  -Vvhole  race  into  the 
web  of  one  vast  fraternity,  and  stamping  upon  it,  or  writing  over  it, 
in  characters  bright  as  sunbeams,  those  simple  yet  glorious  truths, 
he  fatherhood  of  God,  and  the  brotherhood  of  man  ;  —  is  it  pcesibie 
for  such  a  spirit  to  rest  until  it  shall  have  swept  war  from  the  eartSk 
forever  ? 


(6.  MOSES  IN  SIGHT  OF  THE  PROMISED  LAND.— ^.  B.  O.  Peabody.   B.  1799  ;  d.  184?- 

The  legislation  of  Moses !  Let  me  ask,  what  other  legislation  of 
ancient  times  is  still  exerting  any  influence  upon  the  world  ?  What 
philosopher,  what  statesman  of  ancient  times,  can  boast  a  single  dis- 
ciple now  ?  What  other  voice  comes  down  to  us,  over  the  stormy 
waves  of  time  ?  But  this  man  is  at  this  day,  — at  this  hour,  —  eF''^,rt- 
ing  a  mighty  influence  over  millions ;  the  whole  Hebrew  Nation  do 
homage  to  his  illustrious  name.  Though  the  daily  sacrifice  has  ces  sed, 
and  the  distinction  of  the  tribes  is  lost,  —  though  the  temple  has  not 
reft  one  stone  upon  another,  and  the  altar-fires  have  been  extinguii  hed 
iong  ago,  —  still,  wherever  a  Jew  is  found,  —  and  they  are  fcrund 
wherever  the  foot  of  an  adventurer  travels,  —  he  is  a  living  monu]>tenf 
of  the  power  which  this  great  Hebrew  statesman  still  has  over  tk 
minds  and  hearts  of  his  countrymen. 

And  now  let  us  take  one  glance  at  this  prophet,  at  the  close  (>f  a 
life  so  laborious  and  honored.  Up  to  his  one  hundred  and  twenti*-'t.h 
year,  his  eye  was  not  dim,  nor  had  his  strength  abated.  _  But  now, 
when  he  stands  almost  on  the  edge  of  the  promised  land,  his  last  hour 
of  mortal  life  is  come.  To  conduct  his  People  to  that  land  had  been 
his  daily  efi"ort,  and  his  nightly  dream ;  and  yet  he  is  not  permitted 
to  enter  it,  though  it  would  never  have  been  the  home  of  Israel,  but 
for  him.  He  ascends  a  mountain  to  die,  and  there  the  land  of  promise 
spreads  out  its  romantic  landscape  at  his  feet.  There  is  Gilead,  with  its 
deep  valleys  and  forest-covered  hills ;  there  are  the  rich  plains  and 
pastures  of  Dan ;  there  is  Judah  with  its  rocky  heights,  and  Jericho 
A^ith  its  palm-trees  and  rose-gardens  ;  there  is  the  Jordan,  seen  from 
Lebanon  downward,  winding  over  its  yellow  sands ;  the  long  blue  Ime 
of  the  Mediterranean  can  be  seen  over  the  mountain  battlements  of 
the  West.  On  this  magnificent  death-bed  the  Statesman  of  Israel 
breathed  his  last.  Lest  the  gratitude  which  so  often  follows  the  dead, 
taough  denied  to  the  living,  should  pay  him  Divine  honors,  they  buned 
nim  in  darkness  and  silence ;  and  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sep'ilcum 
mto  this  day. 


16.  NECESSITY  OF  LAW.  — Richard  Hooker.   Born,  1663  ;  died.  1600 

The  stateliness  of  hoTises,  the  goodliness  of  trees,  when  we  behold 
khem,  delighteth  the  eye;  but  that  foundation  which  beareth  up  the 
^ne,  that  root  which  imnistereth  unto  the  other  nourishment  and  Ufa 


MOR^L  ANE  DIDACTIC.  CARLYLB. 


51 


k  m  the  bosom  of  the  earth  concealed;  and  if  there  be  occasion  at 
any  time  to  search  into  it,  such  labor  is  then,  more  necessary  than 
pleasant  both  to  them  which  undertake  it  and  for  the  lookers  on 
In  like  manner,  the  use  and  benefit  of  good  laws,  all  that  live  under 
them  may  enjoy  with  delight  and  comfort,  albeit  the  grounds  and  first 
origmaJ  causes  from  whence  they  have  sprung  be  unknown,  as  t')  the 
greatest  part  of  men  they  are. 

Since  the  time  that  God  did  first  proclaim  the  edicts  of  His  law 
npon  the  world.  Heaven  and  earth  have  hearkened  unto  His  voice,  and 
^eir  labor  hath  been  to  do  His  will.    He  made  a  law  for  the  rain : 
He  gave  His  decree  unto  the  sea,  that  the  waters  should  not  pass  His 
commandment.    Now,  if  Nature  should  intermit  her  course,  and  leave 
altogetW,  though  it  were  for  a  while,  the  observation  of  her  own 
law;  il  those  principal  and  mother  elements  of  the  world  whereof 
all  things  m  this  lower  world  are  made,  should  lose  the  qualities 
which  now  they  have;  if  the  frame  of  that  Heavenly  arch  erected 
over  our  heads  should  loosen  and  dissolve  itself;  if  celestial  spheres 
should  forget  their  wonted  motions,  and  by  irregular  volubility  turn 
themselves  any  way  as  it  might  happen;  if  the  prince  of  the  lights 
of  Heaven,_  which  now,  as  a  giant,  doth  run  his  unwearied  course 
should,  as  it  were  through  a  lang-uishing  faintness,  begin  to  stand 
and  to  rest  himself ;  if  the  moon  should  wander  from  her  beaten  way  • 
the  times  and  seasons  of  the  year  blend  themselves  by  disordered 
and  confused  mixture;  the  winds  breathe  out  their  last  ffasp  •  the 
clouds  yield  no  rain;  the  earth  be  defeated  of  Heavenly  influence;  the 
truits  ot  the  earth  pme  away,  as  chUdren  at  the  withered  breasts  of 
their  mother,  no  longer  able  to  yield  them  relief,  —  what  would  be- 
come of  man  himself,  whom  these  things  do  now  all  serve  ?    See  we 
not  plainly  that  obedience  of  creatures  unto  the  law  of  nature  is  the 
stay  ot  the  whole  world  ? 

Of  Law  there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged  than  that  her  seat  is 
the  bosom  of  God;  her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world;  all  thincrg  in 
Heaven  and  earth  do  her  homage;  the  very  least  as  feeling  her  Sare 
and  the  greatest  as  not  exempted  from  her  power.  Both  angels  and 
men,  and  cieatures  of  what  condition  soever,  though  each  in  di£Perem 
sort  and  manner,  yet  all,  with  uniform  consent,  admiring  her  as  the 
(notner  ot  their  peace  and  joy. 


17.  JUSTICE — Thomas  Carlyle. 

In  this  God's  world,  with  its  wild-whirling  eddies  and  mad  foam- 
ooeans,  where  men  and  Nations  perish  as  if  without  law,  and  judgment 
for  an  unjust  thing  is  sternly  delay  3d,  dost  thou  think  that  therein 
therefore  no  justice  ?    It  is  what  the  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart.  It 

what  the  wise,  m  all  times,  were  wise  because  they  denied,  and 
knew  forever  not  to  be  I  tell  thee  again  there  is  nothing  else  bit 
px.tice.    One  strong  thing  I  find  here  below :  the  just  thin|,  ^he  true 


92 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


thing.  Mj  friefid,  if  thou  hadst  all  the  artillery  of  Woolwich  truu 
dling  at  thy  back  in  support  of  an  unjust  thing,  and  infinite  bonfires 
visibly  waiting  ah€)ad  of  thee,  to  blaze  centuries  long  for  thy  victory 
on  behalf  of  it,  I  would  advise  thee  to  call  halt,  to  fling  down  thy 
baton,  and  say,  "  In  God's  name.  No  !  "  Thy  "  succ<;ss  ! ~  Poor 
devil,  what  will  thy  success  amount  to  ?  If  the  thing  is  unjust,  thoia 
hast  not  succeeded ;  no,  not  though  bonfires  blazed  from  North  to 
South,  and  bells  rang,  and  editors  wrote  leading-articles,  and  the  just 
thing  lay  trampled  out  of  sight,  to  all  mortal  eyes  an  abolished  and 
annihilated  thing.  Success  ?  —  In  few  years  thou  wilt  be  dead  and 
gark  —  all  cold,  eyeless,  deaf ;  no  blaze  of  bonfires,  ding-dong  of  bells, 
or  leading-articles,  visible  or  audible  to  thee  again  at  all  forever.  What 
kind  of  success  is  that  ? 


18.  TO-'MORROW.  —Nathaniel  Cotton.   Born,  1T07  ;  died,  1788. 

To-MORROw,  didst  thou  say  ? 
Methought  I  heard  Horatio  say.  To-morrow. 
Go  to  —  I  will  not  hear  of  it  —  To-morrow ! 
'T  is  a  sharper,  who  stakes  his  penury 
Against  thy  plenty, —  who  takes  thy  ready  cash, 
And  pays  thee  naught,  but  wishes,  hopes,  and  promises. 
The  currency  of  idiots,  —  injurious  bankrupt, 
That  gulls  the  easy  creditor  ! —  To-morrow  ! 
It  is  a  period  nowhere  to  be  found 
In  all  the  hoary  registers  of  Time, 
Unless  perchance  in  the  fool's  calendar. 
Wisdom  disclaims  the  word,  nor  holds  society  ~ 
With  those  who  own  it.    No,  my  Horatio, 
'T  is  Fancy's  child,  and  Folly  is  its  father ; 
Wrought  of  such  stuff  as  dreams  are,  and  as  baseless 
As  the  fantastic  visions  of  the  evening. 

But  soft,  my  friend,  —  arrest  the  present  moment 
For  be  assured  they  all  are  arrant  tell-tales : 
And  though  their  flight  be  silent,  and  their  path 
Trackless,  as  the  winged  couriers  of  the  air. 
They  post  to  Heaven,  and  there  record  thy  folly ; 
Because,  though  stationed  on  the  important  watch, 
Thou,  like  a  sleeping,  faithless  sentinel. 
Didst  let  them  pass  unnoticed,  unimproved.  — 
And  know,  for  that  thou  slumberest  on  the  guard, 
Thou  shalt  be  made  to  answer  at  the  bar 
For  every  fugitive  ;  and  when  thou  thus 
Shalt  stand  impleaded  at  the  high  tribunal 
Of  hoodwinked  justice,  who  shall  tell  thy  audit  I 
Then  stay  the  present  instant  dear  Horatio; 
Imprint  the  marks  of  wisdom  on  ite  wings  * 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  GOETEB. 


Tis  of  more  worth  thau  Kingdoms  !  far  more  precious 

Than  all  the  crimson  treasures  of  life's  fountain. 

0  !  let  it  not  elude  thj  grasp ;  but,  like 

The  good  old  patriarch  upon  record, 

Hold  the  fleet  angel  fast  until  he  bless  thee. 


19.  THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  ACTION.— Danic/  TfTebster. 

When  piiblic  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous  occasions, 
«iheii  great  interests  are  at  stake  and  strong  passions  excited,  nothing 
!s  valuable  in  speech,  further  than  it  is  connected  with  high  intellect- 
ual and  moral  endowments.    Clearness,  force  and  earnestness,  are  the 
qualities  which  produce  conviction.    True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not 
consist  m  speech.    It  cam )( t  be  brought  from  far     i^abor  and  learn- 
ing may  toil  for  it,  but  tlo^  will  toil  m  vam     Words  and  phrases 
may  be  marshalled  in  evoi    way,  but  they  cannot  compass  it.  It 
must  exist  in  the  man,  in  th^  subject,  and  in  the  occasion.  AflFected 
Dassion,  intense  expression,  liie  iomp  of  declamation,  all  may  aspire 
after  it-   -they  cannox  reach  t     It  comes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the 
outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from  ci.e  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of 
volcamc  fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native  force.     The  graces 
taught  m  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments  and  studied  contrivances 
of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  mtn,  whei  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate 
of  their  wives,  their  children,  and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision 
of  the  hour.    Then,  words  have  lost  then  power,  rhetoric  is  vain,  ana' 
all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible      Kv.  n  genius  itself  then  feels 
rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the  piebence  of  higher  qualities.  Then, 
patriotism  is  eloquent;  then,  self-devotion  is  eloquent.     The  clear 
conception,  outrunning  the  deductions  of  logic,  the  high  purpose,  the 
firm  resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit,  speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming 
from  the  eye,  informing  every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man 
onward,  right  onward,  to  his  object,  —  this,  this  is  eloquence;  or,  rather, 
it  is  something  greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence,  —  it  is  action' 
5«)ble,  sublime,  godlike  action ! 


aC.  SINCERITY  THE  SOUL  OF  ELOQUENCE.  -  Goethe.    Born,  1749;  rf.ed,  im 

How  shall  we  learn  to  sway  the  minds  of  men 

By  eloquence  ^  to  rule  them,  or  persuade  ?  

Bo  you  seek  genuine  and  worthy  fame  ? 
Reason  and  honest  feeling  want  no  arts 

Of  utterance,  —  ask  no  toil  of  elocution  !  

And,  when  you  speak  in  earnest,  do  you  need 
A  search  for  words  ?  0  !  these  fine  holiday  phrases. 
In  which  you  robe  your  worn-out  commonplaces, 
These  scraps  of  paper  which  you  crimp  and  curl. 


54 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKJJR. 


And  twist  into  a  thousand  idle  shapes, 

These  filigree  ornaments,  are  good  for  notiiing,  • — 

Cost  time  and  pains,  please  few,  impose  on  no  om 

Are  unrefreshing,  as  the  wind  that  whistles, 

In  autumn,  'mong  the  dry  and  wrinkled  leaves. 

If  feeling  does  not  prompt,  in  vain  you  strive. 

If  from  the  soul  the  language  does  not  come, 

By  its  own  impulse,  to  impel  the  hearts 

Of  hearers  with  communicated  power. 

In  vain  you  strive,  in  vain  you  study  earnestly,  — 

Toil  on  forever,  piece  together  fragments,  — 

Cook  up  your  broken  scraps  of  sentences. 

And  blow,  with  pu£&ng  breath,  a  struggling  light. 

Glimmering  confusedly  now,  now  cold  in  ashes,  — 

Startle  the  school-boys  with  yom*  metaphors,  — 

And,  if  such  food  may  suit  your  appetite. 

Win  the  vain  wonder  of  applauding  children  ! 

But  never  hope  to  stir  the  hearts  of  mew. 

And  mould  the  souls  of  m.any  into  one. 

By  words  which  come  not  native  from  the  heart ! 


21.  THE  CHRISTIAN  OB.ATOH.  — Original  translation  from  Fillemain. 

JSy  the  introduction  of  -  Christianity,  a  tribune  was  erected,  from 
which  the  most  sublime  truths  were  boldly  announced  to  all  the  world; 
from  which  the  purest  lessons  of  morality  were  made  famUiar  to  the 
ignorant  multitude ;  a  tribune  so  authoritative,  so  august,  that  before 
it  Emperors,  soiled  with  the  blood  of  the  People,  were  humbled ;  a 
tribune  so  pacific  and  tutelary,  that  more  than  once  it  has  given  refuge 
to  its  mortal  enemies ;  a  tribune,  from  which  many  an  interest,  aban- 
doned everywhere  else,  was  long  defended ;  a  tribune  which,  singly 
and  eternally,  has  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  poor  against  the  rich,  of 
the  oppressed  against  the  oppressor,  and  of  man  against  himself. 

There,  all  becomes  ennobled  and  deified.  The  Christian,  orator, 
with  his  mastery  over  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  elevating  and  startling 
them  by  turns,  can  reveal  to  them  a  destiny  grander  than  glory,  or 
terribler  than  death.  From  the  highest  Heavens  he  can  draw  down 
an  eternal  hope  to  the  tomb,  where  Pericles  could  bring  only  tributary 
lamentations  and  tears.  If,  with  the  Roman  orator,  he  commemorates 
the  warrior  fallen  on  the  field  of  battle,  he  gives  to  the  soul  of  the 
departed  that  immortality  which  Cicero  dared  promise  only  to  his 
renown,  he  charges  Deity  itself  with  the  acquittal  of  a  country's 
gratitude. 

Would  the  orator  confine  himself  to  evangelical  preaching  ?  That 
ecience  of  morals,  that  experience  of  mankind,  those  secrets  of  tlio 
passions,  which  were  the  constant  study  of  the  philosophers  and  orators 
»f  antiquity,  ought  to  be  his,  also,  to  command.    It  is  for  him,  eve* 


MORAL  Am    DIDACTIC.  COWPER, 


Ob 


OiOre  tlian  it  was  for  them,  to  know  all  the  windings  of  tbe  huinan 
Qeart,  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  emotions,  all  the  sensibilities  of  the 
soul ;  not  with  a  view  to  exciting  those  violent  aflfection;s,  those  popu^ 
lar  animosities,  those  fierce  kindlings  of  passion,  those  fi]-es  of  ven 
gcance  and  of  hate,  in  the  outbursts  of  which  the  triumph  of  ancieni 
eloquence  was  attained  ;  but  to  appease,  to  soften,  to  purify,  the  soul 
Armed  against  all  the  passions,  without  the  privilege  of  availing  hini- 
self  of  any,  he  is  obliged,  as  it  were,  to  create  a  new  passion,  if  hy 
fchat  name  wo  may  profane  the  profound,  the  sublime  sentiment,  whicb 
can  alone  vanquish  and  replace  all  others  in  the  heart,  —  an  intelli- 
gent  religious  enthusiasm  ;  and  it  is  that,  which  should  impart  to  his 
elocution,  to  his  thoughts,  to  his  words,  rather  the  inspiration  of  a 
prophet  thai?,  the  art  and  manner  of  an  orator. 


^  AIFECTATION  IN  THE  PULPIT.  — ^TiYftamCowjoer.   Bom,  1731 ;  died,  ISOO 

In  man  or  woman,  —  but  far  most  in  man, 
And  most  of  all  in  man  that  ministers 
And  serves  the  altar,  —  in  my  soul  I  loathe 
All  afiectation.    'T  is  my  perfect  scorn ; 
Object  of  my  implacable  disgust. 
What !  —  will  a  man  play  tricks,  —  will  he  indmge 
A  silly,  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form. 
And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien, 
And  pretty  face,  —  in  presence  of  his  God  ? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  dazzle  me  with  tropes, 
As  with  the  diamond  on  his  lily  hand, 
And  play  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes, 
When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  noble  office,  and,  instead  of  trutli, 
Displaying  his  own  beauty,  starves  his  flock ! 
Therefore,  avaunt  all  attitude,  and  stare. 
And  start  theatric,  practised  at  the  glass  ! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him 
Who  handles  things  divine ;  and  all  besides, 
Though  learned  with  labor,  and  though  much  admired 
By  curious  eyes  and  judgments  ill-informed, 
To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang 
Heard  at  conventif  le,  where  worthy  men, 
Misled  by  custom  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  pressed  nostril,  spectacle-bestrid. 

I  venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life, 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause. 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect 


l-HE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Whose  actions  say  that  they  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse  ; 
Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side, 
Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes  • 
J3ut  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books, 
Or  with  his  pen,  save  when  he  scrawls  a  card 
Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 
Of  ladyships  —  a  stranger  to  the  poor  ; 
«  Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold  ; 

And  well  prepared,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 

By  infidelity  and  love  of  world. 

To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure  ;  a  slave 

To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  pride  ;  — 

From  such  apostles,  0,  ye  mitred  heads. 

Preserve  the  Church !  and  lay  not  careless  hands 

On  skulls  that  cannot  teach,  and  will  not  learn ! 


23,  UTILITY  OF  HISTORY.  —  Ong-maZ  Translation  from  De  S^^ur.    B.  1753;  1  ISSO. 

Whatever  your  career,  a  knowledge  of  history  will  always  be  to 
you  a  source  of  profit  and  delight.  Examples  strike  deeper  than 
precepts.  They  serve  as  proofs  to  convince,  and  as  images  to  attract. 
History  gives  us  the  experience  of  tne  world,  and  the  collective  reason 
of  ages.  We  are  organizcl  like  men  ol  the  remotest  times ;  we  have 
the  same  virtues  and  the  same  vices ;  and.  hurried  forward,  like  them, 
by  our  passions,  we  listen  with  distrust  to  those  warnings  of  wisdom 
which  would  thwart  our  inclinations.  But  History  is  an  impartial 
•nstructor,  whose  reasonings,  which  are  facts,  we  cannot  gainsay.  It 
exhibits  to  us  the  Past,  to  prefigure  the*^ Future.  It  is  the  mirror  of 
truth.  Nations  and  men,  the  most  renowned,  are  judged  in  our  eye& 
from  a  point  of  time  which  destroys  all  illusion,  and  with  a  singleness 
of  purpose  which  no  surviving  interest  can  mislead. 

Before  the  tribunal  of  History,  conquerors  descend  from  their  tri- 
impha]  cars ;  tyrants  are  no  longer  formidable  by  their  satellites  ; 
prince)=  appear  before  us  unattended  by  their  retinue,  and  stripped  of 
that  false  grandeur  with  which  Flattery  saw  them  invested.  You 
detest,  without  danger,  the  ferocity  of  Nero,  the  cruelties  of  Sylla, 
the  hypocrisy  of  Tiberius,  the  licentiousness  of  Caligula.  If  you 
have  seen  Dionysius  terrible  at  Syracuse,  you  behold  him  humbled  at 
Corinth.  The  plaudits  of  an  inconstant  multitude  do  not  delude 
your  judgment  in  favor  of  the  envious  traducers  of  the  good  and 
great ,  and  you  follow,  with  enthusiasm,  the  virtuous  Socrates  to  his 
prison,  the  just  Aristides  into  exile.  If  you  admire  the  valor  of 
Alexander  on  the  banks  of  the  xranicus,  on  the  plains  of  Arbela,  — 
fou  condenm,  without  fear,  that  iiimeasured  ambition  which  hurr;e<J 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  CHALMERS. 


57 


*fiL  to  tto  recesses  of  India,  and  that  profligacy  which,  at  L^bylon, 
fcarnished  the  close  of  his  career.  The  love  of  liberty,  cherished  bv 
the  Grreeks.  may  kindle  your  soul;  but  their  jealousies,  their  fickle- 
ness,  their  ingratitude,  their  sanguinary  quarrels,  their  corruption  of 
manners,  at  once  announce  and  explain  to  you  their  ruin.  If  Rome 
with  her  colossal  power,  excite  your  astonishment,  you  shall  not  fail 
mon  to  distinguish  the  virtues  which  constituted  her  grandeur,  from 
the  vices  which  precipitated  her  fall.  Everywhere  shall  you  reax/. 
£iize  the  proof  of  this  antique  maxim,  that,  in  the  end,  only  what  Is 
honest  IS  usexul;  that  we  are  truly  great  only  through  justice,  and 
entu-ely  happy  only  through  virtue.  Time  dispenses  equitably  its 
recompenses  and  its  chastisements;  and  we  may  measui-e  the  growth 
and  tne  decline  of  a  People  by  the  purity  or  corruption  of  their  morals. 
Virtue  IS  the  enduring  cement  of  the  power  of  Nations ;  and  without 
tlia^,  their  ruin  is  inevitable  ! 


24.  FALSE  COLORING  LENT  TO  WAR.-TAo^.,  Chalmers.    Born,  1180  ;  Uied,  lUI 

On  every  side  of  me  I  see  causes  at  work  which  go  to  spread  a 
most  delusive  coloring  over  war,  and  to  remove  its  shocking  barbarities 
to  the  back-ground  of  our  contemplations  altogether.    I  see  it  in  the 
history  which  tells  me  of  the  superb  appearance  of  the  troops,  and  th, 
brilliancy  of  their  successive  charges.    I  see  it  in  the  poetry  whicl 
lends  the  magic  of  its  numbers  to  the  narrative  of  blood,  and  trans- 
ports  Its  many  admirers,  as  by  its  images,  and  its  figures,  and  its  nod 
dmg  plumes  of  chivalry,  it  throws  its  treacherous  embellishments  over 
a  scene  of  legalized  slaughter.    I  see  it  in  the  music  which  represents 
he  progress  of  the  battle;  and  where,  after  being  inspired  by  the 
trumpet-notes  of  preparation,  the  whole  beauty  and  tenderness  of  a 
drawing-room  are  seen  to  bend  over  the  sentimental  entertainment ; 
nor  do  I  hear  the  utterance  of  a  single  sigh  to  interrupt  the  death' 
tones  of  the  thickemng  contest,  and  the  moans  of  the  wounded  men, 
as  they  fade  away  upon  the  ear,  and  sink  into  lifeless  silence. 

All,  all,  goes  to  prove  what  strange  and  half-sighted  creatures  wo 
$,re.  Were  it  not  so,  war  could  never  have  been  seen  in  any  other 
aspect  than  that  of  unmingled  hatefulness;  and  I  can  look  to  nothinc^ 
but  to  the  progress  of  Christian  sentiment  unon  earth  to  arrest  the 
strong  current  of  the  popular  and  prevailing  partiality  for  war.  Tlieq 
only  will  an  imperious  sense  of  duty  lay  the  check  of  severe  prin 
iiip  e  on  al  the  subordinate  tastes  and  faculties  of  our  nature.  Then 
mil  glory  be  reduced  to  its  right  estimate,  and  the  wakeful  benevo- 
(en^e  of  the  (xospel,  chasing  away  every  spell,  will  be  turned  by  the 
■.-3achory  of  no  delusion  whatever  from  its  simple  but  sublime  enter- 
prises  tor  the  good  of  the  species.  Then  the  reign  of  truth  and  quiet, 
ness  will  be  ushered  into  the  world,  and  war -cruel,  atrocious 
mir^lenting  war  ^  wiU  be  stripped  of  its  many  and  its  bewildering 


68 


THE  P-TANBARD  SPEAKER. 


K>  DEATH'S  FINAL  CONQUEST. —James  Shirley.   Bom,  1694  ;  4*ed,Wt 

The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things ; 
There  is  no  armor  against  Fate ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  Kings ' 
Sceptre,  Crown, 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield,  — 
They  tame  but  one  another  still. 
Early  or  late, 
They  stoop  to  Fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  conquering  breath, 
When  they,  pale  captives,  creep  to  Death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow  !  — 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds : 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 
See  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds ! 
All  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb : 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet,  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 


IB  rXELIGION  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  MEN.  —  Ori^-inaZ  Adaptation  from  Lamardne 

I  KNOW  —  I  sigh  when  I  think  of  it  —  that  hitherto  the  Frencli 
People  have  been  the  least  religious  of  all  the  Nations  of  Europe. 
The  great  men  of  other  countries  live  and  die  on  the  scene  of  history, 
looking  up  to  Heaven.  Our  great  men  live  and  die  looking  at  the 
c'pvctator ;  or,  at  most,  at  posterity.  Open  the  history  of  America 
the  history  of  England,  and  the  history  of  France.  Washington 
and  Franklin  fought,  spoke  and  sufiered,  always  in  the  name  of  God, 
for  whom  they  acted ;  and  the  liberator  of  America  died  confiding  to 
God  the  liberty  of  the  People  and  his  own  soul.  Sidney,  the  young 
martyr  of  a  patriotism  guilty  of  nothing  but  impatience,  and  who 
iied  to  expiate  his  country's  dream  of  liberty,  said  to  his  jailer,  "  I 
fcioice  that  I  die  innocent  toward  the  king,  but  a  victim,  resigned  to 
the  King  on  High,  to  whom  all  life  is  due."  The  Repubncans  of 
Ororawell  sought  only  the  way  of  God,  even  in  the  blood  of  battles 
but  look  at  Mirabeau  on  the  bed  of  death.  "  Orown  me  with  flow 
ers  '  said  he ;  "  intoxicate  me  with  perfumes.  Le^  me  die  to^  the 
mund  of  delicious  music."    Not  a  word  was  there  of  God  or  of  bii 


MuRAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  MILTON 


5{f 


own  &oul!  Sensual  philosopher,  supreme  sensualism  was  hiH  kst 
desire  m  his  agony !  Contemplate  Madame  Roland,  the  strong-hearted 
woman  of  the  Revolution,  on  the  cart  that  conveyed  her  to  death. 
Not  a  glance  toward  Heaven !  Only  one  word  for  the  earth  she  was 
quittmg :  "  0  Liberty,  what  crimes  in  thy  name  are  committed ' " 
Approach  the  dungeon  door  of  the  Girondins.  Their  last  night  is  a 
banquet,  —  their  only  hymn  the  Marseillaise !  Hear  Danton  on  the 
platform  of  the  scaflfold  :  "  I  have  had  a  good  time  of  it ;  let  me  go 
to  sleep."  Then,  to  the  executioner :  "You  will  show  my  head  to  the 
People;  it  is  worth  the  trouble  !"  His  faith,  annihilation;  his  lust 
sigh,  vanity! 

Behold  the  Frenchman  of  this  latter  age  !  What  must  one  think  of 
the  religious  sentiment  of  a  free  People,  whose  great  figures  seem  tnu5 
to  march  m  procession  to  annihilation,  and  to  whom  death  itself  recally 
neither  the  threatenings  nor  the  promises  of  God !  The  Republic 
ot  these  men  without  a  God  was  quickly  stranded.  The  liberty,  wou 
by  so  much  heroism  and  so  much  genius,  did  not  find  in  France  a  con- 
science  to  shelter  it,  a  God  to  avenge  it,  a  People  to  defend  it,  against 
that  Atheism  which  was  called  glory.  All  ended  in  a  soldier,  and 
some  apostate  republicans  travestied  into  courtiers.  An  atheistic 
Kepublicamsm  cannot  be  heroic.  When  you  terrify  it,  it  yields 
When  you  would  buy  it,  it  becomes  venal.  It  would  be  very  foolish 
00  immolate  itself.  Who  would  give  it  credit  for  the  sacrifice,  —  the 
People  ungrateful,  and  God  non-existent?  So  finish  atheistic  Lev- 
olutions ' 


n  THE  SAVIOUR'S  REPLY  TO  THE  TEMVTm.- John  Milton.  Bom,im  ;  die<t 

Thou  neither  dost  persuade  me  to  seek  wealth 

For  empire's  sake,  nor  empire  to  affect 

For  glory's  sake,  by  all  thy  argument. 

Extol  not  riches,  then,  the  toil  of  fools, 

The  wise  man's  cumbrance,  if  not  snare ;  more  apt 

To  slacken  Virtue,  and  abate  her  edge. 

Than  prompt  her  to  do  aught  may  merit  praise 

What  if,  with  like  aversion,  I  reject 

Riches  and  realms  ?    Yet  not,  for  that  a  Crown, 

Golden  in  show,  is  but  a  wreath  of  thorns,  — 

Brings  dangers,  troubles,  cares,  and  sleepless  nights  • 

For  herein  stands  the  virtue  of  a  King, 

That  for  the  public  all  this  weight  he  bears :  

Yet  he,  who  reigns  within  himself,  and  rules 
Passions,  desires  and  fears,  is  more  a  King ! 
This,  every  wise  and  virtuous  man  attains, 
Ajid  who  attains  not,  ill  aspires  to  rule 
Cities  of  men,  or  headstrong  multitudes,  - 
Subject  himself  to  anarchy  within  ! 
To  know,  and,  knowing,  worship  God  aright 


60 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKDR. 


fs  yet  Jtioie  kingly :  this  attracts  the  soifl, 
Governs  the  inner  man,  the  nobler  part 
That  other  o'er  the  body  only  reigns, 
And  oft  by  force,  which,  to  a  generous  mind 
So  reigning,  can  be  no  sincere  delight. 

They  err  who  count  it  glorious  to  subdue 
Great  cities  by  assault.    What  do  these  worthica 
But  rob  and  spoil,  burn,  slaughter  and  enslave 
Peaceable  Nations,  neighboring  or  remote 
Made  captive,  yet  deserving  freedom  more 
Than  those  their  conquerors,  who  leave  behind 
Nothing  but  ruin  wheresoe'er  they  rove. 
And  all  the  fxourishing  works  of  peace  destroy ; 
Then  swell  with  pride,  and  must  be  titled  Gods, 
Great  benefactors  of  mankind,  deliverers. 
Worshipped  with  temple,  priest,  and  sacrifice  ^ 
One  is  the  son  of  Jove,  of  Mars  the  other ; 
Till  conqueror  Death  discover  them  scarce  men, 
Rolling  in  brutish  vices,  and  deformed, — 
Violent  or  shameful  death  their  due  reward  ! 
But,  if  there  be  in  glory  aught  of  good, 
It  may  by  means  far  different  be  attained, 
Without  ambition,  war,  or  violence ; 
By  deeds  of  peace,  by  wisdom  eminent. 
By  patience,  temperance. 
Shall  I  seek  glory,  then,  as  vain  men  seek, 
Oft  not  deserved  ?    I  jSeek  not  mine,  but  His 
Who  sent  me ;  and  thereby  witness  whence  I  am  ! 


28.  NOBILITY  OP  LABOR.—  Rev.  Orville  Dewey. 

1  CALL  upon  those  whom  1  address  to  stand  up  for  the  noblity  A 
btoor.  It  is  Heaven's  great  ordinance  for  human  improvement.  Let 
aot  that  great  ordinance  be  broken  down.  What  do  I  say  It  it 
broken  down ;  and  it  has  been  broken  down,  for  ages.  Let  it,  then, 
be  built  up  again ;  here,  if  anywhere,  on  these  shores  of  a  sew 
^Torld,  —  of  a  new  civilization.  But  how,  I  may  be  asked,  is  it 
broken  down  ?  Do  not  men  toil  ?  it  may  be  said.  They  do,  indeed, 
toil ;  but  they  too  generally  do  it  because  they  must.  Many  submit  to 
it  as,  in  some  sort,  a  degrading  necessity ;  and  they  desire  nothing  so 
much  on  earth  as  escape  from  it.  They  fulfil  the  great  law  of  labor 
in  the  letter,  but  break  it  in  the  spirit ;  fulfil  it  with  the  muscle,  but 
break  it  with  the  mind.  To  some  field  of  labbr,  mental  or  manual, 
every  idler  should  fasten,  as  a  chosen  and  coveted  theatre^  of  im- 
provement. But  so  is  he  not  impelled  to  do,  under  the  teachings  of 
our  imperfect  civilization.  On  the  contrary,  he  sits  down,  folds  his 
Rands,  and  blesses  himself  in  his  idleness.    This  way  of  thinking  if 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  OSGOOD. 


61 


the  heritage  of  tlie  absurd  and  unjust  feudal  system,  andf.i  which 
«erfs  labored,  and  gentlemen  spent  their  lives  in  fighting  and  feasting. 
It  is  time  that  this  opprobrium  of  toil  were  done  away.  Ashamed  to 
toil,  art  thou  ?  Ashamed  of  thy  dingy  work-shop  and  dusty  labor^ 
field ;  of  thy  hard  hand,  scarred  with  service  more  honorable  thae 
that  of  war ;  of  thy  soiled  and  weather-stained  garments,  on  which 
mother  Nature  has  embroidered,  midst  sun  and  rain,  midst  fire  arJ 
steam,  her  own  heraldic  honors  ?  Ashamed  of  these  tokens  and  titles, 
and  envious  of  the  flaunting  robes  of  imbecile  idleness  and  vanity  ? 
It  IS  treason  to  Nature,  — it  is  impiety  to  Heaven,  — it  is  breaking 
Heaven's  groat  ordinance.  Toil,  I  repeat  —  toil,  either  of  the  braiij 
of  the  heart,  or  of  the  hand,  is  the  only  true  manhood,  the  onlv  true 
aohility 


29,  LABOR  IS  WORSHIP. -Frances  5.  Osgood.   Born,  1812;  died,  1850. 
Laborare  est  orare— To  labor  is  to  pray. 

Pause  not  to  dream  of  the  future  before  us; 
Pause  not  to  weep  the  wild  cares  that  come  o'er  ua ; 
Hark,^  how  Creation's  deep,  musical  chorus, 

Unintermitting,  goes  up  into  Heaven ! 
Never  the  ocean  wave  falters  in  flowing ; 
Never  the  little  seed  stops  in  its  growing ; 
More  and  more  richly  the  rose-heart  keeps  glowing, 

Till  from  its  nourishing  stem  it  is  riven. 

"  Labor  is  worship !  "  —  the  robin  is  singing  ; 

"  Labor  is  worship ! "  —  the  wild  bee  is  ringing : 

Listen  !  that  eloquent"  whisper  upspringing 
.     Speaks  to  thy  soul  from  out  Nature's  great  heart. 
'  From  the  dark  cloud  flows  the  life-giving  shower ; 

From  the  rough  sod  blows  the  soft-breathing  flower ; 

From  the  small  insect,  the  rich  coral  bower ; 
Only  man,  in  the  plan,  shrinks  from  his  part. 

Labor  is  life !  'T  is  the  still  water  faileth ; 

Idleness  ever  despaireth,  bewaileth ; 

Keep  the  watch  wound,  for  the  dark  rust  assaileth ; 

Flowers  droop  and  die  in  the  stillness  of  noon. 
Labor  is  glory  !  —  the  flying  cloud  lightens : 
Only  the  waving  wing  changes  and  brightens 
Idle  hearts  only  the  dark  future  frightens ; 

Play  the  sweet  keys,  wouldst  thou  keep  them  in  "Jam 
Labor  is  rest  from  the  sorrows  that  greet  us. 
Rest  from  all  petty  vexations  that  meet  us. 
Rest  from  sin-promptings  that  ever  entreat  us, 

Rest  from  world-sirens  that  lure  us  to  ill. 
Work  —  and  pure  slumbers  shall  wait  on  thy  pillow 
Work  —  thou  shalt  ride  over  Care's  coming  billow  - 


/ 

B2  THE  STA.NDARD  SPEAKEll. 

Lie  not  down  wearied  'neath  Woe's  weeping-willow  ! 
Work  with  ?  stout  heart  and  resolute  will ' 

Labor  is  health .  Lo !  the  husbandman  reaping, 
How  through  his  veins  goes  the  life-current  leaping 
How  his  strong  arm,  in  its  stalwart  pride  sweeping, 

.  True  as  a  sunbeam,  the  swift  sickle  guides ! 
Labor  is  wealth  —  in  the  sea  the  pearl  groweth ; 
Kich  the  queen's  robe  from  the  frail  cocoon  floweth  ; 
From  the  fine  acorn  the  strong  forest  bloweth ; 

Temple  and  statue  the  marble  block  hides. 

Droop  not,  though  shame,  sin  and  anguish,  are  round  thoe 
Bravely  fling  off  the  cold  chain  that  hath  bound  thee ! 
I^ook  to  yon  pure  Heaven  smiling  beyond  thee ; 

'Kest  not  content  in  thy  darkness  —  a  clod ! 
Work  —  for  some  good,  be  it  ever  so  slowly ; 
Cherish  some  flower,  be  it  ever  so  lowly ; 
Labor  !  —  all  labor  is  noble  and  holy ; 

Let  thy  great  deeds  be  thy  prayer  to  thy  God ' 


so.  MORAL  AND  PHYSICAL  SCIENCE  FRIENDLY  TO  FREEDOM.— 12 ew.^J.ff.  CAopin 

No  cause  is  so  bound  up  with  religion  as  the  cause  of  political 
libe-fty  and  the  rights  of  man.  Unless  I  have  read  history  back- 
ward, —  unless  Magna  Charta  is  a  mistake,  and  the  Bill  of  Rights 
a  sham,  and  the  Declaration  of  Independence  a  contumacious  false- 
hood, —  unless  the  sages,  and  heroes,  and  martyrs,  who  have  fought 
and  bled,  were  impostors,  —  unless  the  sublimest  transactions  in  mod- 
ern history,  on  Tower  Hill,  in  the  Parliaments  of  Londop,  on  the 
sea-tossed  Mayflower,  —  unless  these  are  all  deceitful,  there  is  no 
cause  so  linked  with  religion  as  the  cause  of  Democratic  liberty. 

And,  Sir,  not  only  are  all  the  moral  principles,  which  we  can  ram- 
mon  up,  on  the  side  of  this  great  cause,  but  the  physical  movements 
Vf  the  age  attend  it  and  advance  it.  Nature  is  Republican.  The  dis- 
coveries of  Science  are  Republican.  Sir,  what  are  these  new  forces, 
steam  and  electricity,  but  powers  that  are  levelling  all  factitious  dis* 
tinctions,  and  forcing  the  world  on  to  a  noble  destiny  ?  Have  they 
lot  already  propelled  the  nineteenth  century  a  thousand  years  tihead  I 
What  are  they  but  the  servitors  of  the  People,  and  not  A'  a  class  \ 
fJoes  not  the  poor  man  of  to-day  ride  in  a  car  dragged  by  forces  such 
IS  never  waited  on  Kings,  or  drove  the  wheels  of  triumphal  chariots  ^ 
Does  he  not  yoke  the  lightning,  and  touch  the  magnetic  nerves  of  the 
grorld  ?  The  steam-engine  is  a  Democrat.  It  is  the  popular  heart 
hat  throbs  in  its  iron  pulses.  And  the  electric  telegraph  writes  upon 
rhe  walls  of  Despotism,  Mcnt,  mene,  tekel  upkarsin !  There  is  a 
process  going  on  in  the  moral  and  political  world,  —  like  that  ia 
4he  nhvsi^aJ  world,  —  crumbling  the  old  Saurian  *()rms  of  j«ist  ages, 


MORAL  AISD  DIDACTIC.  -—  BETHUNE.  GS 

ftfid  breaking  up  old  landmarks;  and  this  moral  process  is  ^^orUna 
under  Neapolitan  dungeons  and  Austrian  Thrones;  and,  Sir  it  wiU 
tumble  over  jour  Metternichs  and  Nicholases,  and  convert  cour 
Jc^ephs^mto  fossils.  I  repeat  it.  Sir,  not  only  are  all  the  moral  pria- 
eijJesof  the  age,  but  ail  the  physical  principles  of  nature,  as  develcned 
by  man,  at  work  in  behalf  of  freedom.  ^ 

Live,  and  take  comfort.    Thou  hast  left  behma 
Powers  that  will  work  for  thee  j  earth,  air,  and  skies ; 
There 's  not  a  breathing  of  the  common  wind 
That  will  forget  thee  ;  thou  hast  great  allies 


Thy  friends  are  exultations,  agonies, 
And  love,  and  Man's  unconquerable  mind. 


8..  THE  ORDER  OF  NATVRB.- Alexander  Pope.   Born,im;  1744 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
HTiose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 

(xreat  m  the  Earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame, 
Warms  m  the  Sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
ilows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 

Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent 

Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart; 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  yih  Man  that  mourns, 

As  the  rapt  Seraph  that  adores  and  burns : 

u  "^i^^'u^  Si'eat,  no  small ; 

He  fills.  He  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all 

Cease,  then,  nor  Order  Imperfection  name,  — 
Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame 
Know  thy  own  point :   This  kind,  this  due  degree 
Vt  blindness,  weakness,  Heaven  bestows  on  thee, 
bubmit;  — in  this,  or  any  other  sphere, 
becure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear,  — 
Safe  m  the  hand  of  one  Disposing  Power, 
Or  in  the  natal,  or  the  mortal  hour. 
Ail  Nature  is  but  Art,  unknown  to  thee ; 
All  Chance,  Direction,  which  thou  canst  not  see; 
All  Discord,  Harmony  not  understood ; 
All  partial  Evil,  universa  Good  : 
And,  spite  of  Pride,  in  erring  Reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear ;  Whatever  is,  is  right. 


ircTURE  EMPIRE  OP  OUR  LANGV  AQE.  -  Rev.  George  W.  Betkun. 

.  products  Of  the  whole  world  are,  or  may  soon  be,  found  witbiD 
«f  blood,  but  not  enough  to  impair  the  Anglo  Saxon  ascendency.  The 


54 


THE  STAT«l/AKD  SPEAKER. 


Nation  gitiw  morally  strong  from  its  original  elements.  The  gioa^ 
work  was  delayed  only  by  a  just  preparation.  Now,  God  is  bringing 
hither  the  most  vigorous  scions  from  all  the  European  stocks,  to  make 
of  them  all  one  new  man ;  —  not  the  Saxon,  not  the  German,  not  the 
Gaul,  not  the  Helvetian,  but  the  American.  Here  they  will  unite 
one  brotherhood,  will  have  one  law,  will  share  one  interest.  Spread 
over  the  vast  region  from  the  frigid  to  the  torrid,  from  the  Eastern 
the  Western  Ocean,  every  variety  of  climate  giving  them  choice  of 
pureuit  and  modification  of  temperament,  the  ballot-box  fusing  together 
all  rivalries,  they  shall  have  one  national  will.  What  is  wanting  m 
one  race  will  be  supplied  by  the  characteristic  energies  of  the  others , 
and  what  is  excessive  in  either,  checked  by  the  counter  action  of  the 
rest.  Nay,  though  for  a  time  the  newly-come  may  retain  their  foreign 
vernacular,  our  tongue,  so  rich  in  ennobling  literature,  will  be  the 
tonone  of  the  Nation,  the  language  of  its  laws,  and  the  accent  of  its 
mafesty.  Eternal  God,  who  seest  the  end  with  the  beginning.  Thou 
alone  canst  tell  the  ultimate  grandeur  of  this  People !  .  ,  ^  , 

Such,  Gentlemen,  is  the  sphere,  present  and  future,  in  which  God 
calls  us  to  work  for  Him,  for  our  country,  and  for  mankind.  The 
language  in  which  we  utter  truth  will  be  spoken  on  this  Continent,  a 
century  hence,  by  thirty  times  more  millions  than  those  dwelling  on  the 
island  of  its  origin.  The  openings  for  trade  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and 
the  railroad  across  the  Isthmus,  will  bring  the  commerce  of  the  world 
under  the  control  of  our  race.  The  empire  of  our  language  will 
follow  that  of  our  commerce ;  the  empire  of  our  institutions,  that  oi 
our  language.  The  man  who  writes  successfully  for  Ameriea  will  y^ 
Bpeak  for  all  the  world. 

33.  COMPENSATIONS  OF  THE  IMAGINATION.  — JArenside. 

O  BLEST  of  Heaven,  whom  not  the  languid  songs 

Of  Luxury,  the  Siren !  not  the  bribes 

Of  sordid  Wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils 

Of  pageant  Honor,  can  seduce  to  leave 

Those  ever-blooming  sweets,  which  from  the  store 

Of  Nature  fair  Imagination  culls 

To  charm  the  enlivened  soul !   What  though  not  ail 

Of  mortal  offspring  can  attain  the  height 

Of  envied  life ;  though  only  few  possess 

Patrician  treasures  or  imperial  state ;  • 

Yet  Nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  jusi, 

With  riclier  treasures  and  an  ampler  state 

Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man 

Will  deign  to  use  them.    His  the  city's  pomp, 

The  rural  honors  his  !    Whate'er  adorns 

The  princely  dome,  the  column,  and  the  arch, 

The  breathing  marbles,  and  the  sculptured  gold* 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  CHANNINQ 


65 


Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim, 

His  tuneful  breast  enjoys  !    For  him,  the  Spriiig 

Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  germ 

Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds  :  for  him,  the  hand 

Of  Autunm  tinges  every  fertile  branch 

With  blooming  gold,  and  blushes  like  the  mom. 

Each  passing  Hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wmgs 

And  still  new  Beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 

And  Loves  unfelt  attract  him     Not  a  breeze 

Flies  o'er  the  meadow,  not  a  cloud  imbibes 

The  setting  sun's  effulgence,  not  a  strain 

From  all  tlie  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 

Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 

Fresh  pleasure,  unreproved  :  nor  thence  partakes 

Fresh  pleasure  only  :  for  the  attentive  mind. 

By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers. 

Becomes  herself  harmonious.  —  Thus  the  men 

■\\Tiom  Nature's  works  can  charm,  with  God  Himself 

Hold  converse ;  grow  familiar,  day  by  day, 

With  His  conceptions,  act  upon  His  plan. 

And  form  to  His  the  relish  of  their  souls. 


M  niE  GREAT  DISTINCTION  OP  A  NATION. -?r.  E.  Channing.    B.  1780 ;  d  194a 

The  great  distinction  of  a  Nation— the  only  one  worth  possessing, 
and  which  brings  after  it  all  other  blessings  —  is  the  prevalence  of 
pure  principle  among  the  Citizens.  I  wish  to  belong  to  a  State  in 
the  character  and  institutions  of  which  I  may  find  a  spring  of  im- 
provement,  which  I  can  speak  of  with  an  honest  pride ;  m  whose 
records  I  may  meet  great  and  honored  names,  and  which  is  fast  mak- 
hig  the  world  its  debtor  by  its  discoveries  of  truth,  and  by  an  example 
of  virtuous  freedom.  0,  save  me  from  a  country  which  worships 
wealth,  and  cares  not  for  true  glory ;  in  which  intrigue  bears  rule ;  in 
which  patriotism  borrows  its  zeal  from  the  prospect  of  office ;  in  which 
hungry  sycophants  throng  with  supplication  all  the  departments  of 
State ;  in  which  public  men  bear  the  brand  of  private  vice,  and  the 
8<'at  of  Government  is  a  noisome  sink  of  private  licentiousness  a-i 
public  corruption. 

Tell  me  not  of  the  honor  of  belonging  to  a  free  country.  I  ask, 
i>cs  o.ir  liberty  bear  gr.nerous  fruits  ?  Does  it  exalt  us  in  manlv 
spirit,  in  public  virtue,  a.bove  countries  trodden  under  foot  by  De^5po^ 
ism  ?  ^  TsU  me  not  of  the  extent  of  our  country.  I  care  not  how 
large  if  is,  if  it  multiply  degenerate  men.  Speak  not  Df  our  pros- 
verity.  Better  be  one  of  a  poor  People,  plain  in  manners,  reverenc- 
ing God,  and  respecting  themselves,  than  belong  to  a  rich  country, 
which  knows  no  higher  good  than  riches.  Earnestly  do  I  desire  for 
thifii  "ountry,  that,  instead  of  copying  Europe  with  an  undiscermng 


66 


THE  STANDABD  SPEAF15R. 


mlity,  il  may  have  a  character  of  ita  own,  correspoDding  to  'lit 
freedom  and  equality  of  our  institutions.  One  Europe  is  enough. 
One  Paris  is  enough."  How  much  to  be  desired  is  it,  that,  separated, 
as  we  are,  from  the  Eastern  continent,  by  an  ocean,  we  should  be  stili 
more  widely  separated  by  simplicity  of  manners,  by  domestic  parity, 
by  inward  piety,  by  reverence  for  human  nature,  by  moral  indepe'Ed» 
eaoe,  b;^^  withstanding  the  subjection  to  fashion,  and  that  debilitAtbt 
lensuality,  which  characterize  the  most  civilized  portions  of  the  Old 
World  !  Of  this  country,  I  may  say,  with  peculiar  emphasis,  that  its 
happiness  is  bound  up  in  its  virtue  ! 


35.  WHAT  MAKES  A  '[lEROf —  Henry  Taylor. 

What  makes  a  hero  ?  —  not  success,  not  fame, 
Inebriate  merchants,  and  the  loud  acclaim^ 
Of  glutted  Avarice,  —  caps  tossed  up  in  air, 
Or  pen  of  journalist  with  flourish  fair ; 
Bells  pealed,  stars,  ribbons,  and  a  titular  name  — 

These,  though  his  rightful  tribute,^  he  can  spare  ; 
His  rightful  tribute,  not  his  end  or  aim. 
Or  true  reward ;  for  never  yet  did  these 
Refresh  the  soul,  or  set  the  heart  at  ease. 
What  makes  a  hero  ?  —  An  heroic  mind, 
Expressed  in  action,  in  endurance  proved . 
And  if  there  be  preeminence  of  right, 
Derived  through  pain  well  suffered,  to  the  height 
Of  rank  heroic,  't  is  to  bear  unmoved,  ^ 
Not  toil,  not  risk,  not  rage  of  sea  or  wind, 
Not  the  brute  fury  of  barbarians  blind. 

But  worse  —  ingratitude  and  poisonous  darts. 
Launched  by  the  country  he  had  served  and  loved. 
This,  with  a  free,  unclouded  spirit  pure. 
This,  in  the  strength  of  silence  to  endure, 
A  dignity  to  noble  deeds  imparts. 
Beyond  the  gauds  and  trappings  of  renown  • 
This  is  the  hero's  complement  and  crown  j 
This  missed,  one  struggle  had  been  wanting  still,  — 
One  glorious  triumph  of  the  heroic  will, 
One  self-approval  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 


86.  THE  LAST  HOURS  OF  SOGB-AT^.  —  Original  Adaptation. 

Sof^RATES  was  the  reverse  of  a  sceptic.  No  man  ever  looked  upon 
life  with  a  more  positive  and  practical  eye.  No  man  ever  pursued  hia 
mark  with  a  clearer  perception  of  the  road  which  he  was  trav(»llmg. 
No  man  e\er  combined,  in  like  manner,  the  absorbing  enthusiasm  of  a 
missionary,  with  the  acuteness,  the  originality,  the  inventive  rasouries. 


MORAL  AND  DIDACITC.  YANKEE. 


67 


ftpd  tne  generalizing  comprehension,  of  a  pMlosopher.  And  yet  this 
man  was  condemned  to  death, —  condemned  by  a  hostile  tribunal  of 
more  than  five  hundred  citizens  of  Athens,  drawn  at  hazard  from  all 
elates  of  society.  A  majority  of  six  turned  the  scale,  in  the  most 
momentous  trial  that,  up  to  that  time,  the  world  had  witnessed. 
And  the  vague  charges  on  which  Socrates  was  condemned  were,  that 
he  was  a  vum  babbler,  a  corrupter  of  youth,  and  a  setter-forth  of 
straige  Gods! 

It  would  be  tempting  to  enlarge  on  the  closing  scene  of  his  life,  —  a 
scene  which  Plato  has  invested  with  such  immortal  glorv ';  — on  the 
affecting  farewell  to  the  Judges;  on  the  long  thirty  days  which  passed 
in  prison  before  the  execution  of  the  verdict ;  on  his  playful  equa^ 
nimity,  amid  the  uncontrollable  emotions  of  his  companions ;  on  the 
gathering  in  of  that  solemn  evening,  when  the  fading  of  the  sunset 
hues  on  the  tops  of  the  Athenian  hills  was  the  signal  that  the  last 
hour  was  at  hand ;  on  the  introduction  of  the  fatal  hemlock ;  the 
immovable  countenance  of  Socrates,  the  firm  nand,  and  then  the 
burst  of  frantic  lamentation  from  all  his  friends,  as,  with  his  habitual 
ease  and  cheerfulness,  he  drained  the  cup  to  its  dregs  ;  then  the  sol- 
emn  silence  enjoined  by  himself ;  the  pacing  to  and  fro;  the  stron<^ 
religious  persuasions  attested  by  his  last  words ;  the  cold  palsy  of  the 
poison  creeping  from  the  extremities  to  the  heart;  the  gradual  torpor 
ending  in  death  !    But  I  must  forbear. 

0  for  a  modern  spirit  like  his !  0  for  one  hour  of  Socrates  !  0 
tor  one  hour  of  that  voice  whose  questioning  would  make  men  see 
what  they  knew,  and  what  they  did  not  know ;  what  they  meant,  and 
what  they  only  tkouffht  they  meant ;  what  they  believed  in  truth,  and 
what  they  only  believed  in  name  ;  wherein  they  agreed,  and  wherein 
they  differed.  That  voice  is,  indeed,  silent ;  but  there  is  a  voice  m 
each  man's  heart  and  conscience,  which,  if  we  will,  Socrates  has  taught 
us  to  use  rightly.  That  voice  still  enjoins  us  to  give  to  ourselves  a 
reason  for  the  hope  that  is  in  us,—  both  hearing  and  asking  questions, 
it  tells  us,  that  the  fancied  repose  which  seif-iuquiry  disturbs  is  more 
than  compensated  by  the  real  repose  which  it  gives ;  that  a  wise  ques- 
tioning  is  the  half  of  knowledge ;  and  that  a  life  without  self-examin^ 
atiQi  IS  no  life  at  all. 


37.  TO  A  CHILD.  — F5n,lsc. 

Things  of  high  import  sound  I  in  thine  ears, 

Dear  child,  though  now  thou  mayst  not  feel  their  power; 

But  hoard  them  up,  and  in  thy  coming  years 

Forget  them  not,  and  when  earth's  ten  pt/sts  lower, 

A  talisman  unto  thee  shall  they  be, 

To  give  thy  weak  arm  strength  — to  make  thy  dim  eyes  seo. 
Seek  Truth,  — that  pure  celestial  Truth,  — whose  birth 
VV'as  m  the  Heaven  of  Heavens,  clear,  sacred,  shrined 


68 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


In  lleason's  light.  —  Not  oft  she  visits  earth, 

But  her  majestic  port,  the  willing  mind, 
Through  Faith,  may  sometimes  see.    Give  her  thy  som, 
Nor  faint,  though  Error's  surges  loudly  'gainst  thee  roll 

■^Q  free  —  not  chiefly  from  the  iron  chain, 

'  But  from  the  one  which  Passion  forges  —  be 
The  master  of  thyself.    If  lost,  regain 

The  rule  o'er  chance,  sense,  circumstance.    Be  free. 
Trample  thy  proud  lusts  proudly  'neath  thy  feet. 
And  stand  erect,  as  for  a  heaven-born  one  is  meet. 

Seek  Virtue.    Wear  her  armor  to  the  fight ; 

Then,  as  a  wrestler  gathers  strength  from  strife, 
Shalt  thou  be  nerved  to  a  more  vigorous  might 

By  each  contending,  turbulent  ill  of  life. 
Seek  Virtue.  —  She  alone  is  all  divine ; 

And  having  found,  be  strong,  in  God's  own  strength  and  thiQft. 

Truth  —  Freedom  —  Virtue  —  these,  dear  child,  have  power, 

If  rightly  cherished,  to  uphold,  sustain. 
And  bless  thy  spirit,  in  its  darkest  hour ; 

Neglect  them  —  thy  celestial  gifts  are  vain  — 
In  dust  shall  thy  weak  wing  be  dragged  and  soiled ; 
Thy  soul  be  crushed  'neath  gauds  for  which  it  basely  toiled, 


38.  AMERICA'S  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  WORLD. -Gu«an  C.  Verplanek. 

What,  it  is  asked,  has  this  Nation  done  to  repay  the  world  for  the 
t>enefit8  we  have  received  from  others?  — Is  it  nothmg  for  the  uni- 
rersal  good  of  mankind  to  have  carried  into  successful  operation  a 
Bvstem  of  self-government,— uniting  personal  liberty,  freedom  of  opm- 
ion,  and  equality  of  rights,  with  national  power  and  digmty,  —  such  as 
nad  before  existed  only  in  the  Utopian  dreams  of  philosophers  ?  is  it 
nothing,  in  moral  science,  to  have  anticipated,  in  sober  reality  numer- 
ous-plans  of  reform  in  civil  and  criminal  jurisprudence,  which  are, 
Dut  now  received  as  plausible  theories  by  the  politicians  and  econo- 
2iii£t3  of  Europe?  Is  it  nothing  to  have  been  able  to  call  forth,  on 
every  emergency,  either  in  war  or  peace,  a  body  of  talents  always 
equal  to  the  difficulty?  Is  it  nothing  to  have,  in  Jess  than  half  a 
century,  exceedingly  improved  the  sciences  of  political  ecciomy,  ot 
law,  and  of  medicine,  with  all  their  auxiliary  branches-  to  have 
enriched  human  knowledge  by  the  accumulation  of  a  great  mass  ot 
.iseful  facts  and  observations,  and  to  have  augmented  the  power  and 
the  comforts  of  civilized  man  by  miracles  of  mechanical  invention  ? 
Is  it  nothing  to  have  given  the  world  examples  of  disinterested  patri- 
r,tism,  of  political  wisdom,  of  public  virtue;  of  Icarmng,  eloquencQ 
wj4  valor,  never  exerted  save  for  some  praiseworthy  end?    it  u 


MORAL  AND  Dli  ACTIO.  ROUSSEAU. 


89 


Bufl&cient  to  have  briefly  suggested  these  considerations;  every  mind 
would  anticipate  me  in  filling  up  the  details. 

No,  Land  of  Liberty !  —  thy  children  have  no  cause  to  blush  for 
Giee.  What,  though  the  arts  have  reared  few  moimments  among 
us,  and  scarce  a  trace  of  the  Muse's  footstep  is  found  in  the  paths  of 
our  forests,  or  along  the  banks  of  our  rivers,  —  yet  our  soil  has  beun 
consecrated  by  the  blood  of  heroes,  and  by  great  and  holy  deeds  of 
peace.  Its  wide  extent  has  become  one  vast  temple,  and  hallowed 
asylum,  sanctified  by  the  prayers  and  blessings  of  the  persecuted  of 
oveiy  sect,  and  the  wretched  of  all  Nations.  Land  of  Eefuge,  — 
Land  of  Benedictions !  —  Those  prayers  still  arise,  and  they  still  are 
heard  :  "  May  peace  be  within  thy  walls,  and  plenteousness  within  thy 
palaces ! "  "  May  there  be  no  decay,  no  leading  into  captivity,  and  m 
complaining,  in  thy  streets ! "  "  May  truth  flourish  out  of  the  earth, 
and  righteousness  look  down  from  Heaven ! " 


39.  THE  TRUE  KINQ.  — Translated  from  Seneca,  by  Leigh  Hunt. 

'Tis  not  wealth  that  makes  a  King, 
Nor  the  purple  coloring  ; 
Nor  a  brow  that 's  bound  with  gold, 
^or  gate  on  mighty  hinges  rolled. 

The  King  is  hb,  who,  void  of  fear, 
Looks  abroad  with  bosom  clear ; 
Who  can  tread  ambition  down. 
Nor  be  swayed  by  smile  or  frown ; 
Ncr  for  all  the  treasure  cares. 
That  mine  conceals,  or  harvest  wears, 
Or  that  golden  sands  deliver, 
Bosomed  in  a  glassy  river. 

What  shall  move  his  placid  might  ? 
Not  the  headlong  thunder-light, 
Nor  all  the  shapes  of  slaughter's  trade, 
With  onward  lance,  or  fiery  blade. 
Safe,  with  wisdom  for  his  crown, 
He  looks  on  all  things  calmly  down , 
He  welcomes  Fate,  when  Fate  is  near 
Nor  taints  his  dying  breath  with  fear. 

No  —  to  fear  not  earthly  thing, 
This  it  is  that  makes  the  King ; 
And  all  of  us,  whoe'er  we  be 
May  carve  us  out  that  royalty. 

10  DEATH  IS  COMPENSATION — Original  Trans,  from  Rousseau.   B.  m2}  A  im 

The  more  intimately  I  enter  into  communion  with  myself,  —  thf 
wore  I  consult  my  own  intelligence,  —  the  more  legibly  do  I  find  writ- 


"0 


THE  STANDARD  8PBAKEK. 


ten  in  soui  these  words :  Be  just,  and  thou  shali  e  e  happt 
But  let  I.1S  not  base  our  expectations  upon  the  present  state  of  things, 
The  wi'ikcd  prosper,  and  the  just  remani  oppressed.  At  this  fras- 
tration  of  our  hopes,  our  indignation  is  kindled.  Conscience  takea 
umbrage,  and  murmurs  against  its  Author ,  it  murmurs,  lliou  hast 
deceived  me!"'  —  "I  have  deceived  thee,  say'st  thou^  How  dost 
thou  know  it  ?  Who  has  proclaimed  it  to  thee  ?  Is  thy  soul  anni- 
bilisted  ?  Hast  thou  ceased  to  exist  ?  0,  Brutus )  0,  my  son  SoE 
not  thy  noble  life  by  turning  thine  own  hand  against  it.  Ijeave  not 
thy  hope  and  thy  glory  with  thy  mortal  body  on  the  field  of  Philip 
Why  dost  thou  say,  virtue  is  nothing,  when  thou  goest  to  enjoy  th«. 
price  of  thine  ?  Thou  goest  to  die,  thou  thinkest ;  no,  thou  goest  to 
live,  and  it  is  then  that  I  shall  fulfil  all  that  I  have  promised  thee." 

One  would  say,  from  the  murmurs  of  impatient  mortals,  that  God 
owed  them  recompense  before  merit,  and  that  He  ought  to  requite 
their  virtue  in  advance.  0  !  let  us  first  be  good,  and  afterwards  we 
shall  be  happy.  Let  us  not  exact  the  prize  before  the  victory,  nor  the 
wages  before  the  labor.  It  is  not  on  the  course,  says  Plutarch,  thai? 
the  conquerors  in  our  games  are  crowned  ;  it  is  after  they  have  gone 
ever  it.  If  the  soul  is  immaterial,  it  can  survive  the  body ;  and,  in 
that  survival.  Providence  is  justified.  Though  I  were  to  have  no 
other  proof  of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul  than  the  triumph  of  the 
wicked  and  the  oppression  of  the  just  in  this  world,  that  spectacle 
alone  would  prevent  my  doubting  the  reality  of  the  life  after  death. 
So  shocking  a  dissonance  in  this  universal  harmony  would  make  me 
seek  to  explain  it.  I  should  say  to  myself :  "  All  does  not  finish  for 
"ZiQ  with  this  mortal  life ;  what  succeeds  shall  make  concord  of  what 
Tent  before." 


U.    FATE  OF  CHARLES  THE  TWELFTH.— Somuef  ./oAnsow.   Born,  1709?  died.  17S4. 

On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's  prida 
How  just  his  hopes,  let  Swedish  Charles  decide ' 
A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  fire, 
No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire ; 
O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 
Unconquered  lord  of  pleasure  and  of  pain ; 
No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield. 
War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field , 
Behold  surrounding  Kings  their  powers  combine. 
And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign  ; 
Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms  m  vain , 
»'  Think  nothing  gained,"  be  cries,  "  till  naught  remaip  • 
On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  fly, 
And  all  be  mine  beneath  the  Polar  sky." 
The  march  begins  in  military  state, 
And  Nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wa5t 
Stern  Famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  BTORF. 


71 


And  "Winter  barricades  the  realms  of  Frc«.t ; 

He  comes  —  nor  want  nor  cold  his  course  delay - 

Hide,  blushing  Glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day! 

The  vanquished  hero  leaves  his  broken  bauds, 

And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lands ; 

Conaemned  a  needy  supplicant  to  wait, 

While  ladies  interpose,  and  slaves  debate. 

But  did  not  Chance  at  length  her  error  mend 

Did  no  subverted  empire  mark  his  end  ? 

Bid  rival  monarchs  give  the  fatal  wound  ? 

Or  hostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground  ? 

His  fall  was  destined  to  a  barren  strand, 

A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand ; 

He  left  the  name,  at  which  the  world  grew  pale, 

To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale ! 


42.  OUR  DUTIES  TO  THE  REPUBLIC— Jud^e  Story.    Born,  1779  ;  died,  1846 

Thu  Old  World  has  already  revealed  to  us,  in  its  unsealed  books,  the 
beginning  and  end  of  all  its  own  marvellous  struggles  in  the  cause  of 
liberty.    Greece,  lovely  Greece, 

"  The  land  of  scholars  and  the  nurse  of  arms,'* 

where  Sister  Republics,  in  fair  procession,  chanted  the  praises  of  lib« 
erty  and  the  Gods,  —  where  and  what  is  she  ?  For  two  thousand 
years  the  oppressor  has  ground  her  to  the  earth.  Ber  arts  are  m 
more.  The  last  sad  relics  of  her  temples  are  but  the  barracks  of  a 
ruthless  soldiery.  The  fragments  of  her  columns  and  her  palaces  are  > 
in  the  dust,  yet  beautiful  in  ruins.  Slie  fell  not  when  the  mighty 
were  upon  her.  Her  sons  were  united  at  Thermopylae  and  Marathon , 
and  the  tide  of  her  triumph  rolled  back  upon  the  Hellespont.  She 
was  conquered  by  her  own  factions.  She  fell  by  the  hands  of  her 
own  People.  The  man  of  Macedonia  did  not  the  work  of  destruction. 
It  was  already  done,  by  her  own  corruptions,  banishments,  and  dis- 
sensions. E-ome,  republican  Rome,  whose  eagles  glanced  in  the  rising 
and  setting  sun,  —  where  and  what  is  she?  The  eternal  city  yet 
remains,  proud  even  in  her  desolation,  noble  in  her  decline,  venerable 
in  the  majesty  of  religion,  and  calm  as  in  the  composure  of  death. 
The  malaria  has  but  travelled  in  the  paths  worn  by  her  destroyers. 
More  than  eighteen  centuries  have  mourned  over  the  loss  of  her 
empire.  A  mortal  disease  was  upon  her  vitals  before  Csesar  had 
crossed  the  Rubicon ;  and  Brutus  did  not  restore  her  health  by  the 
deep  probings  of  the  Senate-chamber.  The  Goths,  and  Vandals, 
and  Huns,  the  swarms  of  the  North,  completed  only  what  was  already 
begun  at  home.  Romans  betrayed  Rome.  The  Legions  were  boughi 
and  sold ;  but  the  People  offered  the  tribute  money. 

We  stand  the  latest,  and,  if  we  fail,  probably  the  last  experiment 
yf  self-government  by  the  Pe/)ple,    We  have  begun  it  urder  cii-cum- 


n 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


$tanecs  of  the  most  auspicious  nature.  We  are  in  the  vigor  o) 
youth.  Our  growth  has  never  been  checked  by  the  oppressions^  oi 
tyranny.  Our  constitutions  have  never  been  enfeebled  by  the  vicei 
or  luxuries  of  the  Old  World.  Such  as  we  are,  we  have  been  from  the 
beginning,  —  simple,  hardy,  intelligent,  accustomed  to  self-government, 
and  to  self-respect.  The  Atlantic  rolls  between  us  and  any  formi- 
dable foe:  Within  our  own  territory,  stretching  through  many  degree? 
of  latitude  and  longitude,  we  have  the  choice  of  many  products,  and 
many  means  of  independence.  The  Government  is  mild.  The  Press 
Is  free.  Religion  is  free.  Knowledge  reaches,  or  may  reach,  every 
home.  What  fairer  prospect  of  success  could  be  presented  ?  What 
means  more  adequate  to  accomplish  the  sublime  end  ?  What  niore  is 
necessary  than  for  the  People  to  preserve  what  they  have  themselves 
created  ?  Already  has  the  age  caught  the  spirit  of  our  institutions. 
It  has  already  ascended  the  Andes,  and  snuffed  the  breezes  of  both 
oceans.  It  has  infused  itself  into  the  life-blood  of  Europe,  and  warmed 
the  sunny  plains  of  France  and  the  low  lands  of  Holland.  It  has 
touched  the  philosophy  of  Germany  and  the  North;  and,  mo^dng 
onward  to  the  South,  has  opened  to  Greece  the  lessons  of  her  bet- 
ter days.  Can  it  be  that  America,  under  such  circumstances,  can 
oetray  herself?  Can  it  be  that  she  is  to  be  added  to  the  cataLgu6 
or  Republics,  the  inscription  upon  whose  ruins  is  :  _  They  were.  Bin 
THEY  ARE  NOT  ?    Forbid  it,  my  countrymen  !    Forbid  it,  Hca\OD  ' 


43.  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY  AND  WWE,.  — James  Montgomery 

There  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride. 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light. 
And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night ;  — 
There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 
Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 
His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 
While  ii?  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 
The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend  ;  — 
"  Where  shall  that  layid,  that  spot  of  earth,  be  found ' 
Art  thou  a  man  ?  —  a  patriot  ?  —  look  around  ! 
0,  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam. 
That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home  ! 

On  Greenland's  rocks,  o'er  rude  Kamschatka's  plaina 
In  pale  Siberia's  desolate  domains  ; 
When  the  wild  hunter  takes  his  lonely  way, 
Tracks  through  tempestuous  snows  his  savage  prey, 
Or,  wrestling  with  the  might  of  raging  seas, 
Where  round  the  Pole  the  eternal  billows  freczn. 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  CARLYLE. 


"3 


PJucks  from  their  jaws  the  stricken  whale,  in  vain 
Plunging  down  headlong  through  the  whirling  main 5 
His  wastes  of  snow  are  lovelier  in  his  eye 
Than  all  the  ,  flowery  vales  beneath  the  sky , 
And  dearer  far  than  Caesar's  palace-dome, 
His  cavern-shelter,  and  his  cottage-home. 

O'er  China's  garden-fields  and  peopled  floods, 
Id  California's  pathless  world  of  woods ; 
Round  Andes'  heights,  where  Winter,  from  his  thro£se 
Looks  down  in  scorn  upon  the  Summer  zone ; 
By  the  gay  borders  of  Bermuda's  isles, 
Where  Spring  with  everlasting  verdure  smiles  ; 
On  pure  Madeira's  vine-robed  hills  of  health  ; 
In  Java's  swamps  of  pestilence  and  wealth  ; 
Where  Babel  stood,  where  wolves  and  jackals  drink 
'Midst  weeping  willows,  on  Euphrates'  brink ; 
On  darmel's  crest ;  by  Jordan's  reverend  stream, 
Where  Canaan's  glories  vanished  like  a  dream ; 
Where  Greece,  a  spectre,  haunts  her  heroes'  graves, 
And  Home's  vast  ruins  darken  Tiber's  waves  ;  • 
Where  broken-hearted  Switzerland  bewails 
Her  subject  mountains  and  dishonored  vales ; 
Where  Albion's  rocks  exult  amidst  the  sea,  ' 
Around  the  beauteous  isle  of  Liberty  ;  — 
Man,  through  all  ages  of  revolving  time, 
Unchanging  man,  in  every  varying  clime. 
Deems  his  own  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
His  home  the  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest ! 


44.  NATURE  A  HARD  CREDITOR.  —  TAomos  Car/z/.'e. 

Nature  admits  no  lie.  Most  men  profess  to  be  aware  of  this.  Out 
few  in  any  measure  lay  it  to  heart.  Except  in  the  departments  of 
mere  material  manipulation,  it  seems  to  be  taken  practically  as  if  thi£ 
grand  truth  were  merely  a  polite  flourish  of  rhetoric.  Nature  keeps 
silently  a  most  exact  Savings-bank  and  official  register,  correct  to  the 
most  evanescent  item,  Debtor  and  Creditor,  in  respect  to  one  and  all 
of  us ;  silectly  marks  down.  Creditor  by  such  and  such  an  unseen  act 
of  veracity  and  heroism ;  Debtor  to  such  a  loud,  blustery  blunder, 
twenty-seven  million  strong  or  one  unit  strong,  and  to  all  acts  and 
words  and  thoughts  executed  in  consequence  of  that,  —  Debtor,  Debtor, 
Debtor,  day  after  day,  rigorously  as  Fate  (for  this  is  Fate  that  is  writ^ 
ing) ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  account  you  will  have  it  all  to  pay,  my 
friend ;  —  there  is  the  rub !  Not  the  infinitesimallest  fraction  of  a  far- 
thing but  will  be  found  marked  tb^^re,  for  you  and  against  you  ;  and 


74 


THE  STANDARL!  SPEAKER. 


with  the  due  rate  of  interest  you  will  have  to  pay  it,  neatly,  ojmpletely 
us  sure  as  you  are  alive.  You  will  have  to  pay  it  even  in  money,  if 
you  live  :  and,  poor  slave,  do  you  think  there  is  no  payment  but  i| 
money  ?  There  is  a  payment  which  Nature  rigorously  exacts  of  men 
and  also  of  Nations, — and  this  I  think  when  her  wrath  is  sternest,— 
in  tlio  shape  of  dooming  you  to  possess  money : — to  possess  it ;  to  havr 

*  your  bloatbd  vanities  fostered  into  monstrosity  by  it ;  your  foul  paBsioiiS 
blown  into  explosion  by  it;  your  heart,  and,  perhaps,  your  very  stomach, 
mined  with  intoxication  by  it ;  your  poor  life,  and  all  its  manful  activ- 

'  ities,  stunned  into  frenzy  and  comatose  sleep  by  it ;  —  in  one  word,  a8 
the  old  Prophets  said,  your  soul  forever  lost  by  it :  your  soul,  so  that, 
through  the  Eternities,  you  shall  have  no  soul,  or  manful  trace  of  ever 
having  had  a  soul ;  but  only,  for  certain  fleeting  moments,  shall  have 
had  a  money-bag,  and  have  given  soul  and  heart,  and  (frightfaller  still) 
stomach  itself,  in  fatal  exchange  for  the  same.  You  wretched  mortal, 
stumbling  about  in  a  God's  Temple,  and  thinking  it  a  brutal  Cookery- 
shop  !  Nature,  when  her  scorn  of  a  slave  is  divinest,  and  blazes  like 
the^blinding  lightning  against  his  slavehood,  often  enough  flings  him  a 
bag  of  money,  silently  saying  :  "  That !   Away ;  thy  doom  is  that !  ^ 


45.  miE'B  MIDNIGHT  VOICE. —Edward  Fowng-.   Born,  1681 ;  died,  1786 

Creatiov  sleeps.    'Tis  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  Nature  made  a  pause, 
An  awfal  pause  '  prophetic  of  her  end. 

The  bell  strikes  one.  We  take  no  note  of  time, 
But  from  its  loss.    To  give  it,  then,  a  tongue, 
Is  wise  in  man.   As  if  an  angel  spoke, 
I  feel  the  solemn  sound.    If  heard  aright, 
It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours. 
Where  are  they  ?  With  the  years  beyond  the  flood 
It  is  the  signal  that  demands  despatch  : 
How  much  is  to  be  done  !   My  hopes  and  fears 
Start  up  alarmed,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 
Look  down  ~  on  what  ?  a  fathomless  abyss  ! 
A  dread  eternity  !    How  surely  mine ! 
And  can  eternity  belong  to  me. 
Poor  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour  ? 

How  poor,  how  rich,  how  abject,  how  augusu, 
How  3on  plicate,  how  wonderful,  is  man  ! 
How  passing  wonder  He  who  made  him  such  ! 
Who  centred  in  our  make  such  strange  extremes  • 
From  difierent  natures  marvellously  mixed, 
Connection  exquisite  of  distant  worlds ! 
Distinguished  link  in  being's  endless  chain  ' 
Midway  from  nothing  to  the  Deity  ! 
A  beam  ethereal,  sullied,  and  absorpt ' 


MOilAL  AND  PIDACTlC. MONTGOMERr. 


rhough  sullied,  and  dishonored,  still  divine 
Dim  miniature  of  greatness  absolute  ! 
An  heir  of  glory  !  a  frail  child  of  dust ! 
Helpless  immortal !  insect  infinite ! 
A  worm  !  a  god  !  —  I  tremble  at  mj  self. 
And  in  myself  am  lost !    At  home  a  stranger, 
Thought  wanders  up  and  down,  surprised,  aghast, 
And  wondering  at  her  own  :  how  Reason  reels  ! 
0  what  a  miracle  to  man  is  man. 
Triumphantly  distressed  !   What  joy,  what  dread 
Alternately  transported,  and  alarmed  ! 
"V^liat  can  preserve  my  life,  or  what  destroy  ? 
An  angel's  arm  can't  snatch  me  from  the  grave ; 
Legions  of  angels  can't  confine  me  there  ! 
Even  silont  night  proclaims  my  ^oul  immortal ! 


46.   THE  COMMON  LOT. -- Jam^o  Montgomery. 

Once,  in  the  flight  of  ages  past. 

There  lived  a  man ;  and  Who  was  He  ? 
Mortal !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 

That  Man  resembled  Thee. 
Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth, 

The  land  in  which  he  died  unknown : 
His  name  has  perished  from  the  earth ; 

This  truth  survives  alone  :  — 

That  joy  and  grief,  and  hope  and  fear, 

Alternate  triumphed  in  his  breast ; 
His  bliss  and  woe,  —  a  smile,  a  tear !  — 

Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 
The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 

The  changing  spirit's  rise  and  fall ; 
We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him, 

For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  suffered,  —  but  his  pangs  are  o'er  ; 

Enjoyed,  —  but  his  delights  are  fled ; 
Had  friends,  —  his  friends  are  now  no  mor« 

And  foes,  —  his  foes  are  dead. 
He  loved,  —  but  whom  he  loved  the  grave 

H^,th  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb : 
0,  she  was  fair  !  —  but  naught  could  save 

Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen ; 

Encountered  all  that  troubles  thee : 
He  was  —  whatever  thou  hast  been : 

He  is  —  what  thou  shalt  be. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


The  rolling  seasons,  day  and  night, 

Sun,  moon  and  stars,  the  earth  and  mM% 

Ere  while  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams,  o'er  his  eye 

That  onoe  their  shades  and  glory  threw 
Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 

No  vestige  where  they  flew 
The  annals  of  the  human  race. 

Their  ruins,  since  the  world  began, 
Of  him  afford  no  other  trace 

Than  this,  —  There  lived  a  Man  ■ 


47.   THE  TRUE  SOURCE  OF  REFORM.  —  Rev.  E.  H.  Chaptn. 

Tub  gieat  element  of  Reform  is  not  born  of  human  wisdom  ,  it  does 
,,B;t  draw  its  life  from  human  organizations.  I  find  it  only  in  Gkris- 
jpiANiTi.  "  Thy  kingdom  come  !  "  There  is  a  sublime  and  pregnant 
Durden  in  this  Prayer.  It  is  the  aspiration  of  every  soul  that  goes 
forth  in  the  spirit  of  Reform.  For  what  is  the  significance  of  this 
Prayer  ?  It  is  a  petition  that  all  holy  influences  would  penetrate  and 
Bubdue  and  dwell  in  the  heart  of  mc^n,  until  he  shall  think,  and  speak, 
and  do  good,  from  the  very  necessity  of  his  being.  So^  would  the 
institutions  of  error  and  wrong  crumble  and  pass  away.  So  would  sin 
die  out  from  the  earth ;  and  the  human  soul  living  in  harmony  with 
the  Divine  Will,  this  earth  would  become  like  Heaven.  It  is  too  late 
for  the  Reformers  to  sneer  at  Christianity,  —  it  is  foolishness  for  them 
to  reject  it.  In  it  are  enshrined  our  faith  in  human  progress,  —  our 
confidence  in  Reform.  It  is  indissolubly  connected  with  all  that  is 
hopeful,  spiritual,  capable,  in  man.  That  men  have  misunderstood  it, 
and  perverted  is  true.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the  noblest  efforts 
for  human  melioration  have  come  out  of  it,  —  have  been  based  upon  it. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  Come,  ye  remembered  ones,  who  sleep  the  sleep  of  the 
Just,  —  who  took  your  conduct  from  the  line  of  Christian  Philosophy 
. —  come  from  your  tombs,  and  answer ! 

Come,  Howard,  from  the  gloom  of  the  prison  and  the  taint  of  the 
lazar-house,  and  show  us  what  Philanthropy  can  do  when  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  Jesus.  Come,  Eliot,  from  the  thick  forest  where  the  red 
man  listens  to  the  Word  of  Life ;  —  come,  Penn,  from  thy  sweet  eoun- 
feel  and  weaponless  victory,  —  and  show  us  what  Christian  Zeal  and 
Christian  Love  can  accomplish  with  the  rudest  barbarians  or  the  fiercest 
hearts.  Come,  Raikes,  from  thy  labors  with  the  ignorant  and  the 
poor,  and  show  us  with  what  an  eye  this  Faith  regards  the  lowest  and 
least  of  our  race ;  and  how  diligently  it  labors,  not  for  the  body,  not  for 
the  rank,  but  for  the  plastic  soul  that  is  to  course  the  ages  of  immor- 
tility.  And  ye,  who  are  a  great  number,  —  ye  nameless  onea,  —  who 
liave  done  good  in  your  narrow  spheres,  ccntei.;  to  forego  renown  oo 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  MACKAT. 


larth,  and  seeking  your  Keward  in  the  Record  on  High, —  come  And  teL 
as  how  kindly  a  spirit,  how  lofty  a  purpose,  or  how  strong  a  courage 
the  Religion  ye  professed  can  breathe  into  the  poor,  the  hiunble,  and 
the  weak.  Go  forth,  then.  Spirit  of  Christianity,  to  thy  great  work 
of  Reform  !  The  Past  bears  witness  to  thee  in  the  blood  of  thy  mar 
tyrs,  and  the  ashes  of  thy  saints  and  heroes ;  the  Present  is  hopeiii! 
because  of  thee ;  the  Future  shall  acknowledge  thy  omnipotence. 


48.  THE  BEACON  LIGHT.  —  Mm  Parrfoc. 

Darkness  was  deepening  o'er  the  seas,  and  still  the  hulk  drove  on ; 
No  sail  to  answer  to  the  breeze,  —  her  masts  and  cordage  gone ; 
Gloomy  and  drear  her  course  of  fear,  —  each  looked  but  for  a  grave,-- 
'When,  full  in  sight,  the  beacon  light  came  streaming  o'er  the  wave. 

Then  wildly  rose  the  gladdening  shout  of  all  that  hardy  crew ; 
Boldly  they  put  the  helm  about,  and  through  the  surf  they  flew. 
Storm  was  forgot,  toil  heeded  not,  and  loud  the  cheer  they  gave, 
As,  full  in  sight,  the  beacon  light  came  streaming  o'er  the  wave. 

A  nd  gayly  of  the  tale  they  told,  when  they  were  safe  on  shore ; 
How  hearts  had  sunk  and  hopes  grown  cold  amid  the  billow's  roar 
When  not  a  star  had  shone  from  far,  by  its  pale  beam  to  save ; 
Then,  fiill  in  sight,  the  beacon  light  came  streaming  o'er  the  wave. 

Thus,  in  the  night  of  nature's  gloom,  when  sorrow  bows  the  heart,  — 
When  cheering  hopes  no  more  illume,  and  prospects  all  depart,  — 
Then,  from  afiir,  shines  Bethleaem's  star,  with  cheering  light  to  save . 
And,  full  in  sight,  its  beacon  light  comes  streaming  o'er  the  grave. 


49.  «  CLEON  and  I.»  —  Charles  Mackay. 

Cleon  hath  a  million  acres,  —  ne'er  a  one  have  I » 
Cleon  dwelletb  in  a  palace,  —  in  a  cottage,  I ; 
Cleon  hath  a  dozen  fortunes,  —  not  a  penny,  I ; 
But  the  poorer  of  the  twain  is  Cleon,  and  not  I. 

Cleon,  true,  possesseth  acres,  —  but  the  landscape,  I  ; 
Half  the  charms  to  me  it  yieldeth  money  cannot  buy  ; 
Cleon  harbors  sloth  and  dulness,  —  freshening  vigor,  I ; 
He  in  velvet,  I  in  fustian,  —  richer  man  am  I. 

Cleon  is  a  slave  to  grandeur,  —  free  as  thought  am  I  ; 
Cleon  fees  a  score  of  doctors,  —  need  of  none  have  I. 
Wealth-surrounded  care-environed,  Cleon  fears  to  die ; 
Death  may  come,  —  he  '11  find  me  ready,  —  happier  man  am  L 

Cleon  sees  no  charms  in  Nature,  —  in  a  daisy,  I  ;• 

Cleon  hears  no  anthems  ringing  in  the  sea  and  sky 

Nature  sings  to  me  forever,  —  earnest  listener  I  ; 

State  for  state,  with  all  attendants,  who  would  change  ?  Not  I 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


50.   Tim  PROBLEM  FOR  THE  UNITED  STATES.  —  IZei;.  Hemy  A.  Boardman. 

This  Union  cannot  expire  as  the  snow  melts  from  the  rock,  or  a  star 
disappears  from  the  firmament.  When  it  falls,  the  crash  will  be  heard 
in  all  lands.  Wherever  the  winds  of  Heaven  go,  that  will  go,  bear- 
ing sorrow  and  dismay  to  millions  of  stricken  hearts ;  for  the  subver- 
sion of  this  Government  will  render  the  cause  of  Constitutional  Libertj 
hopeless  throughout  the  world.  W^hat  Nation  can  govern  itself,  i  f  tbii 
Nation  cannot  ?  What  encouragement  will  any  People  have  to  esta,b- 
Hsh  liberal  institutions  for  themselves,  if  ours  fail  ?  Providence  has 
laid  upon  us  the  responsibility  and  the  honor  of  solving  that  problem 
in  which  all  coming  generations  of  men  have  a  profound  interest,  — 
whether  the  true  ends  of  Government  can  be  secured  by  a  popular 
representative  system.  In  the  munificence  of  His  goodness.  He  put 
us  in  possession  of  our  heritage,  by  a  series  of  interpositions  scarcely 
less  signal  than  those  which  conducted  the  Hebrews  to  Canaan ;  and 
He  has,  up  to  this  period,  withheld  from  us  no  immunities  or  resources 
which  might  facilitate  an  auspicious  result.  Never  before  was  a  Peo- 
ple so  advantageously  situated  for  working  out  this  great  problem  in 
favor  of  human  liberty ;  and  it  is  important  for  us  to  understand  that 
the  world  so  regards  it. 

If,  in  the  frenzy  of  our  base  sectional  jealousies,  we  dig  the  gi'ave 
of  the  Union,  and  thus  decide  this  question  in  the  negative,  no  tongue 
may  attempt  to  depict  the  disappointment  and  despair  which  will  go 
along  with  the  announcement,  as  it  spreads  through  distant  lands.  It 
will  be  America,  after  fifty  years'  experience,  giving  in  her  adhesion 
to  the  doctrine  that  man  was  not  made  for  self-government.  It  will 
be  Freedom  herself  proclaiming  that  Freedom  is  a  chimera ;  Liberty 
ringing  her  owji  knell,  all  over  the  globe.  And,  when  the  citizens  or 
mhjects  of  the  Governments  which  are  to  succeed  this  Union  shall 
visit  Europe,  and  see,  in  some  land  now  struggling  to  cast  ofl"  its  fet- 
ters, the  lacerated  and  lifeless  form  of  Liberty  laid  prostrate  under 
the  iron  heel  of  Despotism,  let  them  remember  that  the  blow  whicb 
lestroyed  her  was  inflicted  by  their  own  country. 

**  So  the  struck  Eagle,  stretched  upon  the  plain, 
No  mor6  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again, 
Viewed  his  own  feather  ou  the  fatal  dart, 
And  winged  the  shall  that  qiwvered  in  his  heart. 
Keen  were  his  pangs,  but  keener  far  to  feel 
He  nursed  the  pinion  which  impelled  the  steel; 
While  the  same  plumage  that  had  warmed  his  nest 
Drank  the  last  life-drop  of  his  bleeding  breast." 


51.  THE  AMERICAN  EXPERIMENT  OF  SELF-GOVERNMENT.     Edward  Everett 

We  are  summoned  to  new  energy  and  zeal  by  the  high  nature  of 
the  experiment  we  are  appointed  in  Providence  to  make,  and  tho 
grandeur  of  the  theatre  on  which  it  is  to  be  performed.  At  a  moment 
of  deep  and  general  agitation  in  the  Old  World,  it  pleased  Heaven  to 
r»p«D  this  last  refuge  of  humanity,    TVc  ftttemrt  Vap  Vvegrun  and  is 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  LUNT. 


79 


going  OD,  iar  fi-om  foreign  corruption,  on  the  broadest  scale,  anJ  andsi 
the  most  benignant  prospects  ;  and  it  certainly  rests  with  us  to  solve 
the  great  problem  in  human  society,  —  to  settle,  and  that  forever,  the 
momentous  question,  —  whether  mankind  can  be  trusted  with  a  pureJ) 
popular  system  of  Government  ? 

^  One  might  almost  think,  without  extravagance,  that  the  departoti 
wise  and  good,  of  all  places  and  times,  are  looking  down  from  their 
happy  seats  to  witness  what  shall  now  be  lone  h^^  us  that  they  who 
lavished  their  treasures  and  their  blood,  of  old, —  who  opake  and  wrote, 
who  labored,  fought  and  perished,  .in  the  one  great  cause  of  Freedom 
and  Truth,  —  are  now  hanging,  from  their  orbs  on  high,  over  the  last 
solemn  experunent  of  humanity.  As  I  have  wandered  over  the  spots 
once  the  scene  of  their  labors,  and  mused  among  the  prostrate  columns 
nf  ^  their  senate-houses  and  forums,  I  have  seemed  almost  to  hear  a 
voice  from  the  tombs  of  departed  ages,  from  the  sepulchres  of  the 
Nations  which  died  before  the  sight.  They  exhort  us,  they  adjure  us, 
to  be  faithful  to  our  trust.  They  implore  us,  by  the  long  trials  of 
struggling  humanity ;  by  the  blessed  memory  of  the  departed  ;  by  the 
dear  faith  which  has  been  plighted  by  pure  hands  to  the  holy  cause 
of  truth  and  man  ;  by  the  awful  secrets  of  the  prison-house,  where  the 
sons  of  freedom  have  been  immured ;  by  the  noble  heads  which  have 
been  brought  to  the  block ;  by  the  wrecks  of  time,  by  the  eloquent 
ruins  of  Nations,  —  they  conjure  us  not  to  quench  the  light  which  is 
rising  on  the  world.  G-reece  cries  to  us  by  the  convulsed  lips  of  her 
poisoned,  dying  Demosthenes  ;  and  Rome  pleads  with  us  in  the  mute 
persuasion  of  her  mangled  Tully. 


52.  THE  SHIP  OF  STATE.— Rev.  Wm.  P.  Lunt. 

Break  up  the  Union  of  these  States,  because  there  are  acknowledged 
evils  in  our  system  ?  Is  it  so  easy  a  matter,  then,  to  make  everything 
in  the  actual  world  conform  exactly  to  the  ideal  pattern  we  have  con- 
ceived, in  our  minds,  of  absolute  right  ?  Suppose  the  fatal  blow  were 
struck,  and  the  bonds  which  fasten  together  these  States  were  severed, 
would  the  evils  and  mischiefs  that  would  be  experienced  by  those  wha 
are  actually  members  of  this  vast  Republican  Community  be  all  thai 
would  ensue  ?  Certainly  not.  We  are  connected  with  the  several 
Nations  and  Races  of  th^  world  as  no  other  People  has  ever  been  con- 
nected. We  have  opened  our  doors,  and  invited  emigration  to  our 
soil  from  all  lands.  Oar  invitation  has  been  accepted.  Thousands 
Kave  come  at  our  bidding.  Thousands  more  are  on  the  way.  Other 
thoinsands  still  are  standing  a-tipt  do  on  the  shores  of  the  Old  Worl<i, 
eager  to  find  a  passage  to  the  land  where  bread  may  be  had  for  lab^.r, 
and  where  man  is  treated  as  man.  In  our  political  family  almost  aJi 
Nations  are  represented.  The  several  varieties  of  the  race  are  here 
Bubjected  to  a  social  fusion,  out  of  which  Providence  designs  to  form 
ft  "  new  man." 

We  are  ir  this  way  teaching  the  world  a  great  lesson,  —  namely 


80 


THE  STA^a)ATlD  SPEAKER. 


that  men  of  different  languages,  habits,  manners  and  creeds,  can  !iT€ 
too-ether,and  vote  together,  and,  if  not  pray  and  worship  together,  yet 
in'^near  vicinity,  and  do  all  in  peace,  and  be,  for  certam  purposes  at 
least,  one  People.  And  is  not  this  lesson  of  some  value  to  the  world, 
especially  if  we  can  teach  it  not  by  theory  merely,  but  through  a  sue 
cessful  example  ?  Has  not  this  lesson,  thus  conveyed,  some  connec* 
tion  with  the  world's  progress  towards  that  far-off  period  to  which  the 
buman  mind  looks  for  the  fnlfilment  of  its  vision  of  a  perfect  socia. 
state  ?  It  may  safely  be  asserted  that  this  Union  could  not  be  dis- 
Bolved  without  disarranging  and  convulsing  every  part  of  globe. 
N  )t  in  the  indulgence  of  a  vain  confidence  did  our  fathers  build  the 
Ship  of  State,  and  launch  it  upon  the  waters.  We  will  exclaim,  in  tb« 
scble  words  of  one  of  our  poets  :  ^ 

"  Thou,  too,  sail  on,  0  Ship  of  State  ! 
Sail  on,  0  Union,  strong  and  great ! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears. 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  ! 
We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
What  Worlunen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope. 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 
In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope  • 
Tear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock,  — 
'T  is  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 
'T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale  ! 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar. 
In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore. 
Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea  ! 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee. 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears. 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee,—  are  all  with  thee  ! " 


53.  KBH.  — Charles  Sjirague. 

When,  from  the  sacred  garden  driven, 

Man  fled  before  his  Maker's  wrath, 
An  angel  left  her  place  in  Heaven, 

And  crossed  the  wanderer's  sunless  path. 
T  was  Art !  sweet  Art !    New  radiance  broKt 

Where  her  li^ht  foot  flew  o'er  the  ground; 
And  thus  with  seraph  voice  she  spoke,  — 

"  The  curse  a  blessing  shall  be  found." 

She  led  him  through  the  trackless  wild, 

Where  noontide  sunbeam  never  blazed ;  / 
The  thistle  shrank,  the  harvest  smiled, 

And  Nature  gladdened  as  she  grazed. 


•  H.  W.  Longfellow 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  BAYLl 


Earth's  thousand  tribes  of  living  things, 
Al  Art's  command,  to  him  are  given , 

The  village  grows,  the  city  spnngs, 

And  point  their  spires  of  faith  to  Heaveii. 

He  rends  the  oak,  and  bids  it  ride, 

To  guard  the  shores  its  beauty  graced ; 
He  smites  the  rock,  —  upheaved  in  pride. 

See  towers  of  strengtii  and  domes  of  taste : 
Earth's  teeming  caves  their  wealth  reveal. 

Fire  bears  his  banner  on  the  wave, 
He  bids  the  mortal  poison  heal, 

And  leaps  triumphant  o'er  the  grave. 

He  plucks  the  pearls  that  stud  the  deep, 

Admiring  Beauty's  lap  to  fill ; 
He  breaks  the  stubborn  marble's  sleep, 

And  mocks  his  own  Creator's  skill. 
With  thoughts  that  fill  his  glowing  soul, 

He  bids  the  ore  illume  tht  page, 
And,  proudly  scorning  Time's  control, 

Commerces  with  an  unborn  age. 

In  fields  of  air  he  writes  his  name, 

And  treads  the  chambers  of  the  sky , 
He  reads  the  stars,  and  grasps  the  flame 

That  quivers  round  the  Throne  on  high 
In  war  renowned,  in  peace  sublime, 

He  moves  in  greatness  and  in  grace ; 
His  power,  subduing  space  and  time, 

Links  realm  to  realm,  and  race  to  race. 


54.  THE  PILOT.  —  Thomas  Haynes  Bayly.   Bom,  1797  ;  died,  1839 

0,  PiiX)T '  't  is  a  fearfiil  night,  —  there 's  danger  on  the  deep  ; 
I  '11  come  and  pace  the  deck  with  thee,  —  I  do  not  dare  to  sleep. 
Go  down !  the  sailor  cried,  go  down ;  this  is  no  place  for  thee  : 
Pe^r  not ;  but  trust  in  Providence,  wherever  thou  mayst  be 

Ah !  pilot,  dangers  often  met  we  all  are  apt  to  slight, 

And  thou  hast  known  these  raging  waves  but  to  subdue  theii  migkl 

It  is  not  apathy,  he  cried,  that  gives  this  strength  to  me  : 

Peai  not   but  trust  in  Providence,  wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

Oil  such  a  night  the  sea  engulfed  my  father's  lifeless  form ; 
My  only  brother's  boat  went  down  in  just  so  wild  a  storm  • 
And  such,  perhaps,  may  be  my  fate ;  but  still  I  say  to  thee, 
Pear  not   l^ut  trust  in  Providence,  wherever  thou  mayst  b©. 
6 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


DEATH  TYPIFIED  BY  WINTER.  —  James  Thomson.   Born,  IVOO ;  died,  IT 

'T  IS  done !  —  dread  Winter  spreads  his  latest  glooma 
And  reigns  tremendous  o'er  the  conquered  year. 
How  djJd  the  vegetable  kingdom  he.^  ) 
How  du  b  the  tuneful !    Horror  viae  extends 
His  desolate  domain.    Behold,  fond  man  ! 
See  here  thy  pictured  life :  —  pass  some  few  years, 
Thy  flowering  Spring,  thy  Summer's  ardent  strength 
Thv  sober  Autumn  fading  into  age, 
And  pale  concluding  Winter  comes,  at  last, 
And  shuts  the  scene.    Ah !  whither  now  are  fled 
Those  dreams  of  greatness  ?  those  unsolid  hopes 
Of  happiness  ?  those  longings  after  fame  ? 
Those  restless  cares  ?  those  busy  bustling  days  ?  ^ 
Those  gay-spent,  festive  nights?  those  veering  thoughte 
Lost  between  good  and  ill,  that  shared  thy  life  ? 
All  now  are  vanished !    Virtue  sole  survives. 
Immortal,  never-failing  friend  of  man, 
His  guide  to  happiness  on  high.    And  see  !^ 
'T  is  come,  the  glorious  morn  !  the  second  birth 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  !    Awakening  Nature  heaw 
The  new-creating  word,  and  starts  to  life, 
In  every  heightened  form,  from  pain  and  death 
Forever  free.    The  great  eternal  scheme 
Involving  all,  and  in  a  perfect  whole 
Uniting,  as  the  prospect  wider  spreads. 
To  Reason's  eye  refined  clears  up  apace. 
Ye  vainly  wise  !  ye  blind  presumptuous  !  now, 
Confounded  in  the  dust,  adore  that  Power 
And  Wisdom  oft  arraigned  :  see  now  the  cause, 
Why  unassuming  Worth  in  secret  lived, 
And  died  neglected  :  why  the  good  man's  share 
In  life  was  gall  and  bitterness  of  soul :  ^ 
Why  the  lone  widow  and  her  orphans  pined, 
In  starving  solitude  ;  while  Luxury, 
In  palaces,  lay  straining  her  low  thought. 
To  fbrm  unreal  wants  :  why  Heaven-born  Truth. 
And  Moderation  fair,  wore  the  red  marks 
Of  Superstition's  scourge  :  why  licensed  Pain 
That  cruel  spoiler,  that  embosomed  foe, 
Embittered  all  our  bliss.    Ye  good  distressed, 
Ye  noble  few  !  who  here  unbending  stand 
Beneath  life's  pressure,  yet  bear  up  a  while. 
And  what  your  bounded  view,  which  only  saw 
A  little  part,  deemed  Evil,  is  no  more  ! 
The  storms  of  Wintry  Time  will  quickly  puMl, 
And  one  unboumJed  Spring  encircle  all. ' 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  JAMES. 


83 


66    INDUCE^li^NTS  TO  EARNESTNESS  IN  RELIGION.  - /o/i^  Angell  James 

Inducements!    Can  it  be  necessary  to  offer  these?    What!  Is 
not  the  bare  mention  of  religion  enough  to  rouse  every  soul,  who 
anderstands  the  meaning  of  that  momentous  word,  to  the  greatest 
intensity  of  action  ?    Who  needs  to  have  spread  out  before  him  tho 
demonstrations  of  logic,  or  the  persuasions  of  rhetoric,  to  move  hiiu  t© 
seek  after  wealth,  rank,  or  honor  ?    Who,  when  an  opportunity  pre- 
Bents  itself  to  obtain  such  possessions,  requires  anything  more  than  an 
appeal  to  his  consciousness  of  their  value  to  engage  him  in  the  pursuit  ? 
Tlie  very  mention  of  riches  suggests  at  once  to  man's  cuoiditv  a  thou- 
sand arguments  to  use  the  means  of  obtaining  them.  What  intense  long, 
ings  rise  in  the  heart !    What  pictures  crowd  the  imagination !  What 
a  spell  comes  over  the  whole  soul !    And  why  is  there  less,  —  yea, 
why  IS  there  not  intensely  more,  than  all  this,  at  the  mention  of  the 
word  religion,  —  that  term  which  comprehends  Heaven  and  earth, 
time  and  eternity,  God  and  man,  within  its  sublime  and  boundless 
meaning  ?    If  we  were  as  we  ought  to  be,  it  would  be  enough  only  to 
whisper  in  the  ear  that  word,  of  more  than  magic  power,  to  engao-e 
all  our  faculties,  and  all  their  energies,  in  the  most  resolute  purpose, 
the  most  determined  pursuit,  and  the  most  entire  self-devotement. 
Inducements  to  earnestness  in  religion!    Alas!  how  low  we  have 
sunk,  how  far  have  we  been  paralyzed,  to  need  to  be  thus  stimu- 
lated !  . 

^   Is  religion  a  contradiction  to  the  usual  maxim,  that  a  man's  activity 
m  endeavoring  to  obtain  an  object  is,  if  he  understand  it,  in  exact  pro- 
portion  to  the  value  and  importance  which  he  attaches  to  it  ?  Are 
Heaven,  and  salvation,  and  eternity,  the  only  matters  that  shall  reverse 
this  maxim,  and  make  lukewarmness  the  rule  of  action  ?    By  what 
thunder  shall  I  break  in  upon  your  deep  and  dangerous  sleep  ?  0 
revolve  often  and  deeply  the  infinite  realities  of  religion !    Most  sub^ 
jects  may  be  made  to  appear  with  greater  or  less  dignity,  according  to 
the  greater  or  less  degree  of  importance  in  which  the  preacher  places 
them.    Pompous  expressions,  bold  figures,  lively  ornaments  of  elo- 
quence, may  often  supply  a  want  of  this  dignity  in  the  subject  dis- 
cussed.   But  every  attempt  to  give  importance  to  a  motive  taken  from 
eternity  is  more  likely  to  enfeeble  the  doctrine  than  to  invigorate  it. 
Motives  of  this  kind  are  self-sufficient.    Descriptions  the  most  simple 
and  the  most  natural  are  always  the  most  pathetic  or  the  most  terrify- 
ing; nor  can  I  find  an  expression  more  powerful  and  emphatic  than 
that  i(f  Paul,  "  The  things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal."  What 
wore  could  the  tongues  of  men  and  the  eloquence  of  angels  say? 
'Eternal  things"!     Weigh  the  import  of  that  phrase,  "eternal 
things.     The  history  of  Nations,  the  eras  of  time,  the  creation  of 
worlds,  all  fade  into  insignificance,  —  dwindle  to  a  point,  attenuate  to 
a  shadow,  —  compared  with  these  "  eternal  things."    Do  you  believe 
them  ?    If  not,  abjure  your  creed,  abandon  your  belief.    Be  consistent, 
Mid  let  tl:ie  stupendous  vision  which,  like  Jacob's  ladder,  rests  jts  foo< 


84 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


on  earth  and  places  its  top  in  Heaven,  vanish  in  thm  air !  But  if  yon 
do  believe,  say  what  ought  to  be  the  conduct  of  him  who,  to  his  own 
conviction,  stands  with  hell  beneath  him,  Heaven  above  him,  and  eter. 
nity  before  him.  By  all  the  worth  of  the  immortal  soul,  by  all 
the  blessings  of  eternal  salvation,  by  aU  the  glories  of  the  uppei 
world,  by  all  the  horrors  of  the  bottomless  pit,  by  all  the  agei 
©f  eternity  and  by  aU  the  personal  interest  you  have  in  these  mimit* 
realities,  I  cor. jure  you  to  be  in  earnest  in  personal  religion ! 


57.  NEVER  DESPAIR.  —  Samuel  Lover. 

O,  NEVER  despair !  for  our  hopes,  oftentime,^ 
Spring  swiftly,  as  flowers  in  some  tropical  clime,  ^ 
Where  the  spot  that  was  barren  and  scentless  at  mght 
Is  blooming  and  fragrant  at  morning's  first  light ! 
The  mariner  marks,  when  the  tempest  rings  loud, 
That  the  rainbow  is  brighter,  the  darker  the  cloud; 
Then,  up !  up !  —  never  despair ! 

The  leaves  which  the  sibyl  presented  of  old. 
Though  lessened  in  number,  were  not  worth  less  gold ; 
And  though  Fate  steal  our  joys,  do  not  think  they  're  the  befi\, 
The  few  she  has  spared  may  be  worth  all  the  rest. 
Good  fbrtune  oft  comes  in  adversity's  form, 
And  the  rainbow  is  brightest  when  darkest  the  st»rm; 
Then,  up !  up !  —  never  despair ! 

And  when  aU  creation  was  sunk  in  the  flood, 
Subhme  o'er  the  deluge  the  patriarch  stood ! 
Though  destruction  around  him  in  thunder  was  hurled, 
Undaunted  he  looked  on  the  wreck  of  the  world ! 
For,  high  o'er  the  ruin,  hung  Hope's  blessed  form.  — 
The  rainbow  beamed  bright  through  the  gloom  of  tlxe  storm 
Then,  up !  up !  —  never  despair ! 


58.    CHARITY.  —  Tfeomcw  Noon  Talfourd. 

The  blessings  which  the  weak  and  poor  can  scatter 
Have  their  own  season.    'T  is  a  little  thmg 
To  give  a  cup  of  water  ;  yet  its  draught  _ 
Of  cool  refreshment,  drained  by  fevered  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarean  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happiest  hours. 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort,  which,  by  daily  use, 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense  ;  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourned,  twiU  taU 


MOKAL  AND  DlDAOriC.   BRYANT 


Like  choicest  music ;  £Q1  the  glazing  eye 
With  gentle  tears ;  relax  the  knotted  hand 
To  know  the  bonds  of  fellowship  again; 
And  shed  on  the  departing  soul  a  sense 
More  precious  than  the  benison  of  friends 
About  the  honored  death-bed  of  the  rich, 
To  him  who  else  were  lonely,  —  that  anothei 
Of  the  great  family  is  near,  and  feels. 


59.   THE  BATTLE-FIELD.  —  William  Cullen  Bryant 

Once  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands, 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 

And  fiery  hearts  and  armed  hands 
Encountered  in  the  battle-cloud. 

Ah !  never  shall  the  land  forget 

How  gushed  the  life-blood  of  her  brave,  — 
Gushed,  warm  with  hope  and  valor  yet, 
Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save. 

Now  all  is  calm,  and  fresh,  and  still ; 

Alone  the  chirp  of  flitting  bird, 
And  talk  of  children  on  the  hill, 

And  bell  of  wandering  kine,  are  heard. 

No  solemn  host  goes  trailing  by 

The  black-mouthed  gun  and  staggering  waia 
Men  start  not  at  the  battle-cry ;  — 

0,  be  it  never  heard  again ! 

Soon  rested  those  who  fought,  —  but  thou, 
Who  minglest  in  the  harder  strife 

For  truths  which  men  receive  not  now,  

Thy  warfare  only  ends  with  life. 

A  friendless  warfare !  lingering  long 
Through  weary  day  and  weary  year ; 

A  wild  and  many-weaponed  throng 
Hang  on  thy  front,  and  flank,  and  rear. 

Yet  nerve  thy  spirit  to  the  proof. 
And  blench  not  at  thy  chosen  lot . 

The  timid  good  may  stand  aloof, 

The  sage  may  frown,  —  yet  faint  thou  not* 

Nor  heed  the  shaft  too  surely  cast, 
The  hissing,  stinging  bolt  of  scorn , 


86 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


For  with  thy  side  shall  dwell,  at  last, 
The  victory  of  endurance  born. 

Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again  i 
The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers ; 

But  Error,  wounded,  writhes  with  pain, 
And  dies  among  his  worshippers. 

Yea,  though  thou  die  upon  the  dust, 

When  those  who  helped  thee  flee  in  fear  - 

Die  full  of  hope  and  manly  trust. 
Like  those  who  fell  in  battle  here,— 

Another  hand  thy  sword  shall  wield. 
Another  hand  the  standard  wave. 

Till  from  the  trumpet's  mouth  is  pealed 
The  blast  of  triumph  o'er  thy  grave ! 


60.  THE  DIZZY  ACTlTITIES  OF  THE  TIMES.— £dward  Everest. 

We  need  the  spirit  of  75  to  guide  us  safely  amid  the  di?zy  aotiv 
jties  of  the  times.    While  our  own  numbers  are  increasing  in  aa 
UDexampled  ratio,  Europe  is  pouring  in  upon  us  her  hundreds  of 
thousands  annually,  and  new  regions  are  added  to  our  domain,  which 
we  are  obliged  to  count  by  degrees  of  latitude  and  longitude.    In  the 
mean  time,  the  most  wonderful  discoveries  of  art,  and  the  most  myste- 
rious powers  of  nature,  combine  to  give  an  almost  fearful  increase  to 
the  intensity  of  our  existence.    Machines  of  unexampled  complica- 
tion and  ingenuity  have  been  applied  to  the  whole  range  of  human 
industry:  we  rush  across  the  land  and  the  sea  by  steam;  we  cor- 
respond by  magnetism ;  we  paint  by  the  solar  ray ;  we  count  the 
beats  of  the  electric  clock  at  the  distance  of  a  thousand  miles ;  we 
annihilate  time  and  distance ;  and,  amidst  all  the  new  agencies  of 
communication  and  action,  the  omnipotent  Press  —  the  great  engine 
of  modern  progress,  not  superseded  or  impaired,  but  gathering  new 
power  from  all  the  arts— is  daily  clothing  itself  with  louder  thunders. 
While  we  contemplate  with  admiration  —  almost  with  awe  — the 
mighty  influences  which  surround  us,  and  which  demand  our  coopera- 
tion and  our  guidance,  let  our  hearts  overflow  with  gratitude  to  the 
patriots  who  have  handed  down  to  us  this  great  inheritance.  ^  Let  us 
strive  to  furnish  ourselves,  from  the  storehouse  of  their  example,  with 
the  principles  and  virtues  which  will  strengthen  us  for  the  perform- 
ance of  an  honored  part  on  this  illustrious  stage.    Let  pure  patriot- 
ism add  its  bond  to  the  bars  of  iron  which  are  binding  the  continent 
together ;  and,  as  intelligence  shoots  with  the  electric  spark  from 
ocean  to  ocean,  let  public  spirit  and  love  of  country  catch  from  heart 
to  heart 


MORAI  AND  DIDACTIC.  SYDNEY  SMITH. 


ei    THE  GOOD  aUEAT  MAN.— 5.  T.  Coleridge.    Born,  1770  ;  died.  183t 

"  How  seldom,  friend,  a  good  great  man  inherits 

Honor  and  wealth,  with  all  his  worth  and  pains ! 
It  seems  a  story  from  the  world  of  spirits 
When  any  man  obtains  that  which  he  merits, 

Or  any  merits  that  which  he  obtains." 
For  shame,  my  friervd !  —  renounce  this  idle  strain ! 
What  wouldst  thou  have  a  good  great  man  obtain  ? 
Wealth,  title,  dignity,  a  golden  chain. 
Or  heap  of  corses  which  his  sword  hath  slain  ? 
Goodness  and  greatness  are  not  means,  but  ends. 
Hath  he  not  always  treasures,  always  friends. 
The  good  great  man  ?   Three  treasures,  —  love,  ana  light 

And  calm  thoughts,  equable  as  infant's  breath ; 
And  three  fast  friends,  more  sure  than  day  or  night,  — 

Himself,  his  Maker,  and  the  Angel  Death. 


62.  TAXES  THE  PRICE  OF  GLORY.— iZet;.  Sijdney  Smith.    Born,  1768  ;  Jierf,1845. 

John  Bull  can  inform  Jonathan  what  are  the  inevitable  coiise« 
qaences  of  being  too  fond  of  Glory  :  —  Taxes  !  Taxes  upon  every 
article  which  enters  into  the  mouth,  or  covers  the  back,  or  is  placed 
under  the  foot ;  taxes  upon  everything  which  it  is  pleasant  to  see, 
hear,  feel,  smell,  or  taste ;  taxes  upon  warmth,  light,  and  locomotion  ; 
taxes  on  everything  on  earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth;  on 
everything  that  comes  from  abroad,  or  is  grown  at  home;  taxes  on 
the  raw  material ;  taxes  on  every  fresh  value  that  is  added  to  it  by 
the  industry  of  man  ;  taxes  on  the  sauce  which  pampers  man's  appe- 
tite, and  the  drug  that  restores  him  to  health  ;  on  the  ermine  which 
decorates  the  Judge,  and  the  rope  which  hangs  the  criminal ;  on  the 
poor  man's  salt,  and  the  rich  man's  spice ;  on  the  brass  nails  of  the 
coffin,  and  the  ribbons  of  the  bride ;  —  at  bed  or  board,  couchant  or 
levant,  we  must  pay. 

^  The  school-boy  whips  his  taxed  top ;  the  beardless  youth  manages 
his  taxed  horse,  with  a  taxed  bridle,  on  a  taxed  road ; — and  the  dying 
Englishman,  pouring  his  medicine,  which  has  paid  seven  per  cent.,  into 
a  spoon  that  has  paid  fifteen  per  cent.,  flings  himself  back  upon  his 
chintz-bed,  which  has  paid  twenty-two  per  cent.,  makes  his  will  on 
an  eight-pound  stamp,  and  expires  in  the  arms  of  an  apothecary,  who 
has  paid  a  license  of  a  hundred  pounds  for  the  privilege  of  putting 
him  to  death.  His  whole  property  is  then  immediately  taxed  from 
two  to  ten  per  cent.  Besides  the  probate,  large  fees  are  demanded  for 
burying  hun  in  the  chancel ;  his  virtues  are  handed  down  to  posterity 
on  taxed  marble ;  and  he  is  then  gathered  to  his  fathers,-  to  be  taxed 
no  more, 

In  addition  to  all  this,  the  habit  of  dealing  with  large  sums  will 
make  the  Government  avaricious. and  profuse;  and  the  system  itself 


88 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


will  infallibly  generate  the  base  vermin  of  spies  and  inforuers^  and  » 
Btill  more  pestilent  race  of  political  tools  and  retainers  of  the  meanest 
and  most  odious  description;  —  while  the  prodigious  patronage  which 
the  collecting  of  this  splendid  revenue  will  throw  into  the  hands  of 
Ooverimient  will  invest  it  with  so  vast  an  influence,  and  hold  out 
such  means  and  temptations  to  corruption,  as  all  the  virtue  and  publi® 
spirit,  even  of  Republicans,  will  be  unable  to  resist.  Every  "wiSG  Jon 
fttban  should  remember  tbis! 


63.  THE  SHHSS.— Adaptation  from  Ebenezer  Elliot.    Born,  K8a;  died,  \W) 

God  said  —  "  Let  there  be  light ! " 
Grim  darkness  felt  His  might, 
And  fled  away : 
Then  startled  saas  and  mountains  cold 
?  jone  forth,  all  bright  in  blue  and  gold, 
And  cried  —  "  'T  is  day  !  't  is  day !  " 

"  Hail,  holy  light !  "  exclaimed 
The  thunderous  cloud  that  flamed 
O'er  daisies  white ; 
And  lo !  the  rose,  in  crimson  dressed, 
Leaned  sweetly  on  the  lily's  breast, 

And,  blushing,  mui-mured  —  "  Light  " 

Then  was  the  skylark  born ; 
Then  rose  the  embattled  corn ;  | 
Then  floods  of  praise  < 
Flowed  o'er  the  sunny  hills  of  noon  ; 
And  then,  in  stillest  night,  the  moon 
Poured  forth  her  pensive  rays. 

Lo,  Heaven's  bright  bow  is  glad 
Lo,  trees  and  flowers,  all  clad 
In  glory,  bloom ! 
And  shall  the  immortal  sons  of  God 
Be  senseless  as  the  trodden  clod, 
And  darker  than  the  tomb  ? 

No.  by  the  mind  of  man ! 
By  the  swart  artisan ! 
We  will  aspire ! 
Our  souls  have  holy  light  within, 
And  every  form  of  grief  and  sin 
Shall  see  and  feel  its  fire. 

By  all  we  hope  of  Heaven, 
The  shroud  of  souls  is  riven  * 
Mind,  mind  alone 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  —  CHANNING. 


89 


Is  light,  and  hope,  and  life,  and  power ! 
Earth's  deepest  night,  from  this  blessed  hour,— 
The  night  of  mind,  —  is  gone ! 

"  The  Press !  "  all  lands  shall  sing ; 
The  Press,  the  Press  we  bring, 
All  lands  to  bless. 
0,  pallid  Want !  0,  Labor  stark ! 
Behold !  we  bring  the  second  ark  ! 
The  Press,  the  Fress,  the  Press ! 


64.  A  DEFENCE  OF  VOETRY.  — Rev.  Charles  Wolfe.    Born,  1791;  rfierf,  1823. 

Believe  not  those  who  tell  jou  that  Poetry  will  seduce  the  youth- 
fill  mind  from  severe  occupations.  Didactic  Poetry  not  only  admits, 
but  requires,  the  cooperation  of  Philosophy  and  Science.  And  true 
Poetry  must  be  always  reverent.  Would  not  an  universal  cloud  settle 
upon  all  the  beauties  of  Creation,  if  it  were  supposed  that  they  had 
not  emanated  from  Almighty  energy  ?  In  works  of  art,  we  are  not 
content  with  the  accuracy  of  feature,  and  the  glow  of  coloring,  until 
we  have  traced  them  to  the  mind  that  guided  the  chisel,  and  gave  the 
pencil  its  delicacies  and  its  animation.  Nor  can  we  look  with  delight 
on  the  features  of  Nature,  without  hailing  the  celestial  Intellio-ence 
that  gave  them  birth.  The  Deity  is  too  sublime  for  Poetry  to  doubt 
His  existence.  Creation  has  too  much  of  the  Divinity  insinuated  into 
her  beauties  to  allow  Poetry  to  hesitate  in  her  creed.  She  demands 
no  proof.  She  waits  for  no  demonstration.  She  looks,  and  she 
believes.  She  admires,  and  she  adores.  Nor  is  it  alone  with  natural 
religion  that  she  maintains  this  intimate  connection ;  for  what  is  the 
Christian's  hope,  but  Poetry  in  her  purest  and  most  ethereal  essence  ? 

From  the  beginning  she  was  one  of  the  ministering  spirits  that 
stand  round  the  Throne  of  God,  to  issue  forth  at  His  word,  and  do 
His  errands  upon  the  earth.  Sometimes  she  has  been  the  herald  of 
an  offending  nation's  downfall.  Often  has  she  been  sent  commissioned 
to  offending  man,  with  prophecy  and  warning  upon  her  lips.  At 
other  times  she  has  been  intrusted  with  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy.*= 
Poetry  was  the  anticipating  Apostle,  the  prophetic  Evangelist,  whose 
feet  "  were  beautiful  upon  the  mountains ;  "  who  published  salvatioa 
who  said  unto  Zion,  "  Thy  God  reigneth !  " 


65.  GREAT  IDEAS. —  /Zcv.  W.  E.  Channtng. 

What  is  needed  to  elevate  the  soul  is,  not  that  a  man  should  know 
all  that  has  been  thought  and  written  in  regard  to  the  spiritual  nature, 
not  that  a  man  should  become  an  Encyclopedia,  but  that  the  Great 
Ideas  in  which  all  discoveries  terminate,  which  sum  up  all  sciences 
which  the  philosopher  extracts  from  infinite  details,  may  be  compre- 
hended  and  felt  It  is  not  the  quantity,  but  the  quality  of  knowJ 
edge,  which  determ^-es  the  mind's  dignity.     A  man  of  immenjw 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEll. 


information  may,  througli  tLe  T?»Bnt  of  large  and  comprehe.  «5iYe  ideaa 
be  far  inferior  in  intellect  to  a  laborer,  wko,  with  little  knowledge,  has 
yet  seized  on  great  truths.  For  example,  I  do  not  expect  the  laborer 
to  study  theology  in  the  ancient  languages,  in  the  writings  of  the 
Fathers,  in  the  history  of  sects ;  nor  is  this  needful.  All  theology 
scattered  as  it  is  through  countless  volumes,  is  summed  up  in  the  idea 
of  God ;  and  let  this  idea  shine  bright  and  clear  in  the  laborer's  soul 
and  he  has  the  essence  of  theological  libraries,  and  a  far  higher  ligh^ 
than  has  visited  thousands  of  renowned  divines.  A  great  mind  l<» 
formed  by  a  few  great  ideas,  not  by  an  infinity  of  loo£=e  details. 

I  have  known  very  learned  men  who  seemed  to  me  very  poor  in 
uitellect,  because  they  had  no  grand  thoughts.  What  avails  it  that  a 
man  has  studied  ever  so  minutely  the  histories  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
if  the  Great  Ideas  of  Freedom,  and  Beauty,  and  Valor,  and  Spiritual 
Energy,  have  not  been  kindled,  by  those  records,  into  living  fires  in 
his  soul  ?  The  illumination  of  an  age  does  not  consist  in  the  amount 
of  its  knowledge,  but  in  the  broad  and  noble  principles  of  which  that 
knowledge  is  the  foundation  and  inspirer.  The  truth  is,  that  the  most 
laborious  and  successful  student  is  confined  in  his  researches  to  a  very 
few  of  God's  works ;  but  this  Imiited  knowledge  of  things  may  still 
suggest  universal  laws,  broad  principles,  grand  ideas ;  and  these  ele- 
vate the  mind.  There  are  certain ,  thoughts,  principles,  ideas,  which 
by  their  nature  rule  o^'jr  all  knowledge,  which  are  intrinsically  glori- 
ous quickening,  all-con^prehending,  eternal ! 


66.  ENGLAND.  — IJZ^enezer  EKzo?. 

'  Nurse  of  the  Pilgrim  Sires,  who  sought,  beyond  the  Atlantic  foam, 
For  fearless  truth  and  honest  thought,  a  refuge  and  a  home ! 
Who  would  not  be  of  them  or  thee  a  not  unworthy  son. 
That  hears,  amid  the  chained  or  free,  the  name  of  Washington  ? 

Cradle  of  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Knox!     King-shaming  Cromwell's 
throne ! 

Home  of  the  Russells,  Watts,  and  Lockes     Earth's  greatest  are  thine 
own ! 

And  shall  thy  children  forge  base  chains  for  men  that  would  be  free  \ 
No !  by  the  Eliots,  Hampdens,  Vanes  Pyms,  Sidneys,  yet  to  be ! 
No  !    For  the  blood  which  kings  have  gorged  ha  th  made  their  victims 
wise; 

While  every  lie  that  Fraud  hath  forged  veils  wisdom  from  his  eyes. 
But  time  shall  change  the  despot's  mood  ;  and  IMind  is  mightiest  then, 
When  turning  evil  into  good,  and  monsters  into  men. 

If  round  the  soul  the  chains  are  bound  that  hold  the  world  in  thrall,  — 
If  tyrants  laugh  when  men  are  found  in  brutal  fray  to  fall,  — 
Lord !  let  not  Britain  arm  her  hands,  her  sister  states  to  ban ; 
But  bless  through  her  all  other  lands  —  Thy  family  of  Man  ' 


MORAL  AND  DIDACTIC.  CAMPBELL.  9\ 

For  freedom  if  thy  Hampden  fought,  for  peace  if  Falkjand  fell,  — 
For  peace  and  love  if  Bentham  wrote,  and  Burns  sang  wildly  well,  - 
Let  Knowledge,  strongest  of  the  strong,  bid  hate  and  discord  cease 
Be  this  the  burden  of  her  song,  —  "  Love,  Liberty,  and  Peace !  " 

Then,  Father,  will  th-e  Nations  all,  as  with  the  sound  of  seaa, 

In  universal  festival,  sing  words  of  joy,  like  these :  — 

Let  each  love  all,  and  all  be  free,  receiving  as  they  give ; 

Lord  '  Jesus  died  for  Love  and  Thee  !    So  let  Thy  children  liT6 1 


67    VUAT'S  QROJJNDf —Thomas  Campbell.  Born,  HIT ;  died,  im, 

VV HAT 's  hallowed  ground  ?    Has  earth  a  clod 
Its  Maker  meant  not  should  be  trod 
By  man,  the  image  of  his  God, 

Erect  and  free, 
Unscourged  by  Superstition's  rod 

To  bow  the  knee  ? 

What  hallows  ground  where  heroes  sleep  ? 
'T  is  not  the  sculptured  piles  you  heap  : 
In  dews  that  Heavens  far  distant  weep, 

Their  turf  may  bloom ; 
Or  Genii  twine  beneath  the  deep 

Their  coral  tomb. 

But  strew  his  ashes  to  the  wind. 

Whose  sword  or  voice  has  saved  mankind,  — - 

And  is  he  dead,  whose  glorious  mind 

Lifts  thine  on  high  ? 
To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind. 

Is  not  to  die ! 

Is 't  death  to  fall  for  Freedom's  right  ?  — 
He 's  dead  alone  that  lacks  her  light ! 
And  murder  sullies,  in  Heaven's  sight, 

The  sword  he  draws  :  — 
What  can  alone  ennoble  fight  ?  — 

A  noble  cause ! 
Give  that ;  and  welcome  War  to  brace 
Her  drams !  and  rend  Heaven's  welkin  spaoe 
The  colors  planted  face  to  face, 

The  charging  cheer, 
Though  Death's  pale  horse  lead  on  the  chase. 

Shall  still  be  dear ! 

And  place  our  trophies  where  men  kneei 
To  Heaven !  —  But  Heaven  rebukes  my  zeal 
The  cause  of  truth  and  humaa  weal, — 
0  God  above  '  — 


92 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAREll. 


Transfer  it  from  the  sword's  appeal 
To  peace  and  love  ! 

Peace,  love,  — ■  the  cherubim  that  join 
Their  spread  wings  o'er  devotion's  shrine, 
Prayers  sound  in  vain,  and  temples  shine, 

When  they  are  not ; 
The  heart  alone  can  make  divine 

Eeligion's  spot ' 

What 's  hallowed  ground  ?    'T  is  what  gives  birth 
To  sacred  thoughts  in  souls  of  worth  ! 
Peace  !  Independence  !  Truth !  go  forth 

Earth's  compass  round ; 
And  your  high  priesthood  shall  make  earth 

All  hallowed  ground ! 


68.  NATURE  PROCLAIMS  A  D'ESTi.— Chateaubriand.    Born,  Vim;  dieJ,  184S 

There  is  a  God!  The  herbs  of  the  valley,  the  cedars  of  the 
mountain,  bless  Him  ;  the  insect  sports  in  His  beam ;  the  bird  sings 
Him  in  the  foliage ;  the  thunder  proclaims  Him  in  the  Heavens , 
the  ocean  declares  His  immensity;  —  man  alone  has  said,  there  is 
no  God!  Unite  in  thought  at  the  same  instant  the  most  beauti- 
ful objects  in  nature.  Suppose  that  you  see,  at  once,  all  the  hours 
of  the  day,  and  all  the  seasons  of  the  year :  a  morning  of  spring, 
and  a  morning  of  autumn;  a  night  bespangled  with  stars,  and  a 
night  darkened  by  clouds ;  meadows  enamelled  with  flowers ;  forests 
hoary  with  snow ;  fields  gilded  by  the  tints  of  autumn,  —  then  alone 
you  will  have  a  just  conception  of  the  universe !  While  you  are 
gazing  on  that  sun  which  is  plunging  into  the  vault  of  the  West, 
another  observer  admires  hira  emerging  from  the  gilded  gates  of 
the  Fast.  By  what  inconceivable  power  does  that  aged  star,  which  is 
sinking  fatigued  and  burning  in  the  shades  of  the  evening,  reappear 
at  the  same  instant  fresh  and  humid  with  the  rosy  dew  of  the  morn- 
Ing  ?  At  every  hour  of  the  day,  the  glorious  orb  is  at  once  rising, 
resplendent  as  noon-day,  and  setting  in  the  west ;  or,  rather,  our  sensi>« 
deceive  us,  and  there  is,  properly  speaking,  no  East  or  West,  no  North 
M  South  in  the  world. 


69.  WnAT  WE  OWE  TO  THE  SWORD.  —  T.  S.  Grimki.   Born.,  1778;  died,  1834. 

To  the  question,  "  what  have  the  People  ever  gained  but  by  Revo- 
lution." I  answer,  boldly.  If  by  Revolution  be  understood  the  law  of 
the  Sword,  Liberty  has  lost  far  more  than  she  has  ever  gained  by  it. 
I'he  Stvord  was  the  destroyer  of  the  Lycian  Confederacy  and  the 
Achaean  league.  The  Sword  alternately  enslaved  and  disenthralled 
rbsbes  and  Athens,  Sparta,  Syracuse  and  Corinth.  The  Sword  of 
Rome  conquered  every  other  free  State,  and  finished  tho  murder  0/ 


MORAL  ANE  DIDACTIC.  —  HLTsl 


9S 


&bert7  in  the  ancient  world,  by  destroying  h^^rself.  TVbit  but  th<» 
Swojd,  in  modern  times,  annihilated  the  Republics  of  Italy,  tha  Hanse. 
atic  townS;  and  the  primitive  independence  of  Ireland,  Wales  and 
Scotland  ?  What  but  the  Sword  partitioned  Poland,  assassinated  the 
rising  liberty  of  Spain,  banished  the  Huguenots  from  France,  and 
made  Cromwell  the  master,  not  the  servant,  of  the  People  ?  And  what 
but  the  Sword  of  Republican  France  destroyed  the  Independence  of 
half  of  Europe,  deluged  the  continent  with  tears,  devoured  its  niilliona 
upon  millions,  and  closed  the  long  catalogue  of  guilt,  by  founding  and 
defending  to  the  last  the  most  powerful,  selfish,  and  insatiable  of  mil- 
itary despotisms  ? 

The  Sword,  indeed,  delivered  Greece  from  the  Persian  invaders, 
expelled  the  Tarquins  from  Rome,  emancipated  Switzeiland  and  Hol- 
land, restored  the  Bruce  to  his  Throne,  and  brought  Charles  to  the 
scaffold.  And  the  Sword  redeemed  the  pledge  of  the  Congress  of 
'76,  when  they  plighted  to  each  other  "  their  lives,  their  fortunes, 
and  their  sacred  honor."  And  yet,  what  would  the  redemption  of 
that  pledge  have  availed  towards  the  establishment  of  our  present 
Government,  if  the  spirit  of  American  institutions  had  not  been  both 
the  birthright  and  the  birth-blessing  of  the  Colonies  ?  The  Indians, 
the  French,  the  Spaniards,  and  even  England  herself,  warred  in  vain 
against  a  People,  born  and  bred  in  the  household,  at  the  doL^estic 
altar,  of  Liberty  herself.  They  had  never  been  slaves,  for  they  were 
born  free.  The  Sword  was  a  herald  to  proclaim  their  freedom,  but  it 
neither  created  nor  preserved  it.  A  century  and  a  half  had  already 
beheld  them  free  in  infancy,  free  in  youth,  free  in  early  manhood. 
Theirs  was  already  the  spirit  of  American  institutions  ;  the  spirit  of 
Christian  freedom,  of  a  temperate,  regulated  freedom,  of  a  rational 
civil  obedience.  ,  For  such  a  People,  the  Sword,  the  law  of  violence, 
did  and  could  do  nothing,  but  sever  the  bonds  which  bound  her  colo- 
nial wards  to  their  unnatural  guardian.  They  redeemed  their  pledge. 
Sword  in  hand ;  but  the  Sword  left  them  as  it  found  them,  un- 
changed in  character,  —  freemen  in  thought  and  in  deed,  iastinct  wit.ii 
the  .inimortal  spirit  of  American  institutions  ! 


ABOTJ  BEN  KDRmi.  — Leigh  Hunt 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase !) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room, 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angul  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And,  to  the  presence  in  the  room,  he  said, 
"  What  writest  thou  ?  "    The  vision  raised  its  head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 
A-nswered,  '  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord  ! 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


•*  And  is  mine  one  ?  "  asked  Abou.  —    Nay,  not  so,*' 

Replied  the  angel.    Abou  spake  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still ;  and  said  —  "  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.    The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

Aiid  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest  • 

And  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest ! 


POLONIUS  TO  LAERTES.  —  William  Shakspeare.    Born,  1564 ;  ditd  1816. 

My  blessing  with  you  ! 
And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 
Look  thou  charac'ter.    Give  thy  thoughts  no  ton^nie 
Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar  : 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatched,  unfledged  comrade.  Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel  ;  but,  being  in. 
Bear  it  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice ; 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy. 
But  not  expressed  in  fancy  ;  rich,  not  gaudy  : 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man  ; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station,  . 
Are  most  select  and  generous  chief  in  that. 
Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be  ; 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend. 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry.' 
This  above  all,  —  to  thine  own  self  be  tmo, 
A.nd  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 


72  WHERE  IS  HE?  — Henry  iV^ee/e.    Born,  1798  ;  died,  im 
"  Man  giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  be  ? " 

*  And  where  is  he  ?  "    Not  by  the  side 

Of  her  whose  wants  he  loved  to  tend'; 
Not  o'er  those  valleys  wandering  wide. 

Where,  sweetly  lost,  he  oft  would  wend. 
Thfit  form  beloved  he  marks  no  more  ; 

Those  scenes  admired  no  more  shall  see , 
"^ose  scenes  are  lovely  as  before,  — 

And  she  as  f  ar,  —  but  where  is  he  ' 


MORAL  AN!  DIDACTIC   WAYLAND. 


No,  no  !  the  radiance  is  not  dim, 

That  used  to  gild  his  favorite  hill  - 
The  pleasures  that  were  dear  to  him 

Are  dear  to  life  and  nature  still 
But,  ah !  his  home  is  not  as  fair 

Neglected  must  his  garden  be 
The  lilies  droop  and  wither  there 

And  seem  to  whisper,  Where  is  he  ? 

His  was  the  pomp,  the  crowded  hall 

But  where  is  now  his  proud  display  ? 
His  riches,  honors,  pleasures,  —  all. 

Desire  could  frame  ;  but  where  are  they 
And  he,  as  some  tall  rock  that  stands, 

Protected  by  the  circling  sea, 
Sftrrounded  by  admiring  bands. 

Seemed  proudly  strong,  —  and  where  is 

The  church-yard  bears  an  added  stone  ; 

The  fire-side  shows  a  vacant  chair  ; 
Here  Sadness  dwells,  and  weeps  alone  ; 

And  Death  displays  his  banner  there ! 
The  life  has  gone  ;  the  breath  has  fled  ; 

And  what  has  been  no  more  shall  be ; 
The  well-known  form,  the  welcome  tread,  

0  !  where  are  they  ?    A\A  where  is  he  ? 


73.  GROWTH  OF  INTERNATIONAL  SYl^lPATBms.  -  President  TFaylana. 

In  many  raspects,  the  Nations  of  Christendom  collectively  are 
becommg  somewhat  analogous  to  our  own  Federal  Rep..blic.  Anti- 
quated  distinctions  are  breaking  away,  and  local  animosities  are  sub 
siding.  The  common  people  of  different  countries  are  knowino-  each 
other  better  esteeming  each  other  more,  and  attaching  themselves  to 
each  other  by  various  manifes'':ations  of  reciprocal  good  will.  It  ia 
true,  every  nation  has  still  it?  separate  boundaries  and  its  individual 
interests  ;  but  the  freedom  of  commercial  intercourse  is  allowing  those 
interests  to  adjust  themselves  to  each  other,  and  thus  rendering  the 
wauses  of  collision  of  vastly  less  frequent  occurrence.  Local  questions 
are  becoming  of  less,  and  general  questions  of  greater  importance 
Ihanks  be  to  God,  men  have  at  last  begun  to  understand  the  right** 
md  feel  for  the  wrongs  of  each  other  !  Mountains  interposed  do  not 
60  much  make  enemies  of  nations.  Let  the  trumpet  of  alarm  be 
sounded,  and  its  notes  are  now  heard  by  every  nation,  whether  of 
l^urope  or  America.  Let  a  voice  borne  on  tiie  feeblest  breeze  tell 
th^t  the  rights  of  man  are  in  danger,  and  it  floats  over  valley  and 
mountain,  across  continent  and  ocean,  until  it  hoB  vibrated  on  the  ear 
ot  the  remotest  ^weVer  in  Christendom.    Let  the  arm  {"»r>pressio» 


96 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


6e  raised  to  crusli  the  feeblest  nation  on  earth,  and  there  will  be  heard 
everywhere,  if  not  the  shout  of  defiance,  at  least  the  deep-toned  mur 
mur  of  implacable  displeasure.  It  is  the  cry  of  aggrieved,  insulted, 
much-abused  man.  It  is  human  nature  waking  m  her  might  from  thfl 
slumber  of  ages,  shaking  herself  from  the  dust  of  antiquated  institu« 
tions,  girding  herself  for  the  combat,  and  going  forth  conquering  and 
to  conquer and  woe  unto  the  man,  woe  unto  the  dynasty,  woe  watA 
the  party,  and  woe  unto  the  policy,  on  whom  shall  fall  the  scathe 
fici  blighting  indignation  ! 


74  THE  WORTH  OF  ^A^ilE. —Joanna  Baillie.    Born,  1165',  deed,  18j» 

0  !  WHO  shall  lightly  say  that  Fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name, 
Whilst  in  that  sound  there  is  a  charm 
The  nerves  to  brace,  the  heart  to  warm, 
As,  thinking  of  the  mighty  dead, 

The  young  from  slothful  couch  will  start, 
And  vow,  with  lifted  hands  outspread, 

Like  them  to  act  a  noble  part ! 

O  !  who  shall  lightly  say  that  Fame 

Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name. 

When,  but  for  those,  —  our  mighty  dead« 

All  ages  past,  a  blank  would  be. 
Sunk  in  oblivion's  murky  bed,  — 

A  desert  bare,  a  shipless  sea  ? 
They  are  the  distant  objects  seen,  — 
The  lofty  marks  of  what  hath  been. 

0  !  who  shall  lightly  say  that  Fame 
Is  nothing  but  an  empty  name, 
When  memory  of  the  mighty  dead 

To  earth-worn  pilgrim's  wistful  eye 
The  brightest  rays  of  cheering  shed. 

That  point  to  immortality  ? 

A  twinkling  speck,  but  fixed  and  bright, 

To  guide  us  through  the  dreary  night, 

Each  hero  shines,  and  lures  the  soul 

To  gain  the  distant,  happy  goal. 
For  is  there  one  who,  musing  o'er  the  grave 
Where  lies  interred  the  good,  the  wise,  the  brave, 
Can  poorly  think,  beneath  the  mouldering  heap. 
That  noble  being  shall  forever  sleep  ? 
No ,  saith  the  generous  heart,  and  proudly  swells,  — 
"  Though  his  cered  corse  lies  here,  with  Grod  his  spirit  dwelU" 


MORAL  AND  DIDjidTIC.  HEBEK  97 

75.  THE  PURSUrr  OF  FRIVOLOUS  PLEASURES.  —  Young 

O,  THE  dark  days  of  vanity  !  while  here 
Uqw  tasteless,  and  how  terrible  when  gone  ! 
Gone !  they  ne'er  go ;  when  past,  they  hauut  us  still  j 
The  spirit  walks  of  every  day  deceased, 
And  smiles  an  angel,  or  a  ftiry  frowns. 
Nor  death  nor  life  delights  us.    If  time  past 
And  time  possest  both  pain  us,  what  can  please 
That  which  the  Deity  to  please  ordained. 
Time  USED !   The  man  who  consecrates  his  hours 
By  vigorous  effort  and  an  honest  aim. 
At  once  he  draws  the  sting  of  life  and  death  ; 
He  walks  with  Nature,  and  her  paths  are  peace. 

Ye  well  arrayed  !  ye  lilies  of  our  land  ! 
Ye  lilies  male  !  who  neither  toil  nor  spin 
(As  sister  lilies  might),  if  not  so  wise 
As  Sqlomon,  more  sumptuous  to  the  sight ' 
Ye  delicate  !  who  nothing  can  support, 
Yourselves  most  insupportable  !  for  whom 
The  winter  rose  must  blow,  the  Sun  put  on 
A  brighter  beam  in  Leo ;  silky-soft 
Favonius  breathe  still  softer,  or  be  chid  ; 
And  other  worlds  send  odors,  sauce,  and  song, 
And  robes,  and  notions,  framed  in  foreign  looms,—' 
0  ye  Lorenzos  of  our  age  !  who  deem 
One  moment  unamused  a  misery 
Not  made  for  feeble  man ;  who  call  aloud 
For  every  bauble  drivelled  o'er  by  sense 
For  rattles  and  conceits  of  every  cast , 
For  change  of  follies  and  relays  of  joy, 
To  drag  your  patient  through  the  tedious  length 
Of  a  short  winter's  day,  —  say,  Sages,  say  ! 
Wit's  oracles  !  say,  dreamers  of  gay  dreams  ! 
How  will  ye  weather  an  eternal  night, 
Where  such  expedients  fail  • 


76.  forgive.  -  Rishop  Heber.    Born,  1783 ;  died,  1826. 

0  God  !  my  sins  are  manifold;  against  my  life  they  cry, 
And  all  my  guilty  deeds  foregone  up  to  Thy  temple  fly. 
Wilt  ihjM  release  my  trembling  soul,  that  to  despair  is  driven  ? 
Forgive!  "  a  blessed  voice  replied,  "and. thou  shalt  be  forgiven." 

My  foemen.  Lord,  are  fierce  and  fell ;  they  spurn  me  in  their  pride 
ITiey  render  evil  for  my  good  ;  my  patience  they  deride  • 
Arise  :^  my  King !  and  be  the  proud  in  righteous  ruin  driven  \  — 
Forgive  !  "  the  awful  answer  came,  "  as  thou  wouldst  be  forgiven  " 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

Seven  times,  0  Lord.  I 've  pardoned  them  ;  seven  times  they 've  euined 

rhev  practise  still  to  work  me  woe,  and  triumph  m  ray  pain ,  _ 
rfut  let  them  dread  my  vengeance  now,  to  just  resentment  dnyen 
«  Forgive ! "  the  voice  in  thunder  spake,    or  never  be  forgiven! 


77.  TRITE  SCIENCE  OUGHT  TO  BE  Ti^UBWUS.  -  PreHdenI  HIKM 

I  AM  far  from  maintaining  that  science  is  a  sufficient  guide  U. 
religion.    On  the  other  hand,  if  left  to  itself,  as  I  fully  admit, 

« It  leads  to  bewilder,  and  dazzles  to  blind." 
Nor  do  I  maintain  that  scientific  truth,  even  when  properly  appre- 
ciated, will  compare  at  all,  in  its  influence  upon  the  human 
those  peculiar  and  higher  truths  disclosed  by  Eevelation.    AH  I  con- 
Ind  for  is,  that  scientific  truth,  illustrating  as  it  does  the  divme  char- 
acter plan  and  government,  ought  to  fan  and  feed  the  flame  of  true 
^e  y  in  the  hearts  of  its  cultivators.    He,  therefore  who  knows  the 
To  I  of  science,  ought  most  pK^werfuUy  to  feel  this  religious  influence^ 
He  is  not  confined,  like  the  great  mass  of  men,  to  the  outer  court  of 
Nature's  magnificent  temple;  but  he  is  admitted  to  the  mtcrior,  and 
allowed  to  trace  its  long  halls,  aisles  and  galleries,  and  ga^e  upon  its 
1  fty  domes  and  arches nay,  as  a  priest  he  enters  theym*aZ«  the 
holy  of  holies,  where  sacred  fire  is  always  burmng  upon  the  altaj 
where  hovers  the  glorious  Schekinah;  and  where,  from  a  full  orche  - 
to       anthem  of  praise  is  ever  ascending.  _  Petrified  indeed,  must 
be  his  heart,  if  it  catches  none  of  the  inspiration  of  such  a  spot.  He 
Lhtt«  go  forth  from  it,  among  his  fellow-men  with  radiant  glory 
on  his  face,  like  Moses  from  the  holy  mount.    He  who  sees  most  of 
God  in  His  works  ought  to  show  the  stamp  of  Divmity  upon  his 
character,  and  lead  an  eminently  holy  life.       .  , ,  . 

Yet  it  is  only  a  few  gifted  and  adventurous  mmds  that  are  able,  trom 
some  advanced  mountain-top,  U>  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  entire  stream 
truth,  formed  by  the  harmonious  union  of  all  principles  ami  flow- 
ing  on  Majestically  into  the  boundless  oc<«m  of       knowledge  he 
ilnite  miid.   But  when  the  Christian  philosopher  shall  be  pemittod 
to  resume  the  study  of  science  in  a  future  world,  with  powers  of 
bvestl^tion  enlarged  and  clarified,  and  all  obstaeles  removed,  he  will 
S  et  tro^e  onlard  the  various  ramifications  of  truth,  till  they  «mt^ 
^to  higher  and  higher  principles,  and  become  one  m  t^at  cent^  of 
Ltres?  the  Pivine  Mind.    That  is  the  Ocean  from  which  all  truth 
rSy  sprang,  and  to  which  it  ultimately  return.    To  mce  out 
Te^shorL  of  that  shoreless  Sea,  to  m«.sure  ts  measured  extent^  and 
,to  fathom  its  unfathomable  depths,  wil  be  the  noble  and  the  Joyour 
Lk  of  eternal  ages.    And  yet  eternal  ages  may  pass  by  and  ««  th« 
woitk  only  begun  ! 


MOKAL  DIDACTTO.  JOHNSON. 


78.  TRIUMPHS  OP  THB  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE.  -«,„.  J.  g  l^^, 

TT'jf"'!  f  ?•  bards, -let  harps  and  hearts  be  strung. 

To  ce  ebrate  the  trmmphs  of  our  own  good  Saxon  tongue !  * 

It  ^  with  PKEEDO.V,  Thought  and  Truth,  to  rouj  and^  th. 


Sttut  Albion  hears  its  household  lays  on  every  surf-wom  shore 
And  Scotland  hears  its  echoing  far 'as  Orkney's  breakTroar  ' 
It  chmbs  Nevr  England's  rooky  steeps  as  victor  mounte  aXolie 
Niagara  knows  and  greets  the  voice,  still  mightier  than  its  oZ!' 

^LT^  "^^""^  P''*^  -^"^P  Weak  Canadian  plains 

And  where  on  Esseqmbo's  banks,  eternal  Summer  reigns  ^ 
It  tracks  the  loud  swift  Oregon,  through  sunset  valley!  rkled 
.4nd  soars  where  California  brooks  wash  down  their  saK  gold 
It  kindles  realms  so  far  apart,  that  while  its  praise  you  sin.. 
These  m^ay^be  clad  with  Autumn's  fruits,  an'd  thos^  „ithXers  of 

It  quickens  lands  whose  meteor  lights  flame  in  an  Arctic  skv 
And  lands  for  wbch  the  Southern' Cross  hangs  orbU tro^high 
It  goes  with  all  that  Prophets  told,  and  righteous  Kings  desired  • 
With  al  that  great  Apostl^  taught,  and  glorious  Ss  aXir^l. 

W  h  S,T''  ^""^  "'"i  Milton's  lofT;^i;d ; 

With  Alfreds  laws,  and  Newton's  lore,  to  cheer  and  bless  mankind 


79.  THE  WATER-DRINKER  -E.  Johnson 

0  WATER  for  me »  bright  water  for  me, 
And  wme  for  the  tremulous  debauchee. 
Water  cooleth  the  brow,  and  cooleth  the  brain, 
And  maketh  the  faint  one  strong  again : 

l^Tl  'n  '^T  ^^'^  brfeze  from  the  , 
All  freshness,  like  infant  purity  : 

water,  bright  water,  for  me,  for  me. 

Wwe  wme,  giye  wine,  to  the  debauchee  ^ 


THE  STANDARD  SPEARER. 


Fill  to  the  brim !  fill,  fill  to  the  brim ; 

Let  the  flowing  crystal  kiss  the  rim  ! 

For  my  hand  is  steady,  my  eye  is  true. 

For  I,  like  the  flowers,  drink  nothing  but  dew. 

0,  water,  bright  water 's  a  mine  of  wealth, 

And  the  ores  which  it  yieldeth  are  vigor  and  health. 

So  wat^r,  pure  water,  for  me,  for  me ' 

And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee 

Fill  again  to  the  brim, —  again  to  the  brim  ! 
For  water  strengtheneth  life  and  limb  ! 
To  the  days  of  the  aged  it  addeth  length, 
To  the  might  of  the  strong  it  addeth  strength ; 
It  freshens  the  heart,  it  brightens  the  sight, 
'T  is  like  quafl&ng  a  goblet  of  morning  light . 
So,  water,  I  will  drink  nothing  but  thee, 
Thou  parent  of  health  and  energy ! 

When  over  the  hills,  like  a  gladsome  bride, 
Morning  walks  forth  in  her  beauty's  pride, 
And,  leading  a  band  of  laughing  hours, 
Brushes  the  dew  from  the  nodding  flowers, 
0  !  cheerily  then  my  voice  is  heard 
Mingling  with  that  of  the  soaring  bird, 
Who  flingeth  abroad  his  matin  loud. 
As  he  freshens  his  wing  in  the  cold,  gray  cloud. 

But  when  evening  has  quitted  her  sheltering  yew. 

Drowsily  flying,  and  weaving  anew 

Her  dusky  meshes  o'er  land  and  sea. 

How  gently,  0  sleep,  fall  thy  poppies  on  me  J 

For  I  drink  water,  pure,  cold,  and  bright. 

And  my  dreams  are  of  Heaven  the  livelong  night. 

So  hurrah  for  thee,  Water !  hurrah !  hurrah  ! 

Thou  art  silver  and  gold,  thou  art  riband  and  star 

Hurrah  for  bright  water !  hurrah !  hurrah ! 


80.  THE  DAYS  THAT  ARE  GONE.  —  Charles  Mackay 

Who  is  it  that  mourns  for  the  days  that  are  gone, 
When  a  Noble  could  do  as  he  liked  with  his  own  ? 
When  his  serfs,  with  their  burdens  well  filled  on  their  banks 
Never  dared  to  complain  of  the  weight  of  a  tax  ?  ' 
When  his  word  was  a  statute,  his  nod  was  a  law, 
And  for  aught  but  his  "  order  "  he  cared  not  a  straw  ? 
When  each  had  his  dungeon  and  racks  for  the  poor, 
And  a  gibbet  to  hang  a  refractory  boor  ? 

They  were  days  when  the  oword  settled  questions  of  right 
And  Falsehood  was  first  to  monopolize  might ; 


MORAL  /.ND  DIDACTly 


When  Law  never  dreamed  it  was  good  to  relent, 
'^r  thought  it  less  wisdom  to  kill  than  prevent; 
When  Justice  herself,  taking  Law  for  her  guiae, 
Was  never  appeased  till  a  victim  had  died ; 
And  the  stealer  of  sheep  and  the  slayer  of  men 
Were  strung  up  together,  again  and  again. 

They  were  days  when  the  Crowd  had  no  freedom  of  speech, 

And  reading  and  writing  were  out  of  its  reach ; 

When  Ignorance,  stolid  and  dense,  was  its  doom, 

And  Bigotry  swathed  it  from  cradle  to  tomb  ; 

When  the  Few  thought  the  Many  mere  workers  for  them, 

To  use  them,  and  when  they  had  used,  to  contemn  ; 

And  the  Many,  poor  fools !  thought  the  treatment  their  due 

And  crawled  in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  Few ! 

No  !   The  Present,  though  clouds  o'er  her  countenance  roll, 

Has  a  light  m  her  eyes,  and  a  hope  in  her  soul  ; 

And  we  are  too  wise  like  the  Bigots  to  mourn 

For  the  darkness  of  days  that  shall  never  return. 

Worn  out  and  extinct,  may  their  history  serve 

As  a  beacon  to  warn  us,  whenever  we  swerve, 

To  shun  the  Oppression,  the  Folly  and  Crime, 

That  blacken  the  page  of  that  Record  of  Time. 

Their  chivalry  lightened  the  gloom,  it  is  true, 

And  Honor  and  Loyalty  dwelt  with  the  Few; 

But  small  was  the  light,  and  of  little  avail, 

Compared  with  the  blaze  of  our  Press  and  our  Rail;  ■ 

buccess  to  that  blaze !    May  it  shine  over  all,  • 

Till  Ignorance  learn  with  what  grace  she  may  fall, 

And  fly  from  the  world  with  the  sorrow  she  wrought. 

And  leave  it  to  Virtue  and  Freedom  of  Thought 


81.  TEE  WORK-SHOP  AND  THE  G^MV. -For  a  Mechanic  Ce.X 

The  Camp  has  had  its  day  of  son<y : 

The  sword,  the  bayonet,  the  plume. 
Have  crowded  out  of  rhyme  too  long 

The  plough,  the  anvil,  and  the  loom ! 
O,  not  upon  our  tented  fields 

Are  Freedom's  heroes  bred  alone 
The  training  of  the  Work-shop  yields 

More  heroes  true  than  War  has  known 

Who  drives  the  bolt,  who  shapes  the  steel, 
May,  with  a  heart  as  valiant,  smite, 

AS  he  who  sees  a  foeman  reel 

In  blood  before  his  blow  of  might ' 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


llie  skill  that  conquers  space  and  time, 
That  graces  life,  that  lightens  toil, 

May  spring  from  courage  more  sublime 
Than  that  which  makes  a  realm  its  spoil 

T^et  Labor,  then,  look  up  and  see 

His  craft  no  pith  of  honor  lacks  ; 
The  soldier's  rifle  yet  shall  be 

Less  honored  than  the  woodman's  axe  I 
Let  Art  his  own  appointment  prize ;  ^ 

Nor  deem  that  gold  or  outward  height 
Can  compensate  the  worth  that  lies 

In  tastes  that  breed  their  own  delight. 

And  may  the  time  draw  nearer  still, 

When  men  this  sacred  truth  shall  heed 
That  from  the  thought  and  from  the  will 

Must  all  that  raises  man  proceed ! 
Though  Pride  should  hold  our  calling  low 

For  us  shall  duty  make  it  good ; 
And  we  from  truth  to  truth  shall  go. 

Till  life  and  death  are  understood. 


82.  THE  WISE  MAN'S  PRAYER.— Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 

Inquirer,  cease  !  petitions  yet  remain 
Which  Heaven  may  hear ;  —  nor  deem  religion  val® 
Still  raise  for  good  the  supplicating  voice,  ^ 
But  leave  to  Heaven  the  measure  and  the  choice 
Safe  in  His  power,  whose  eyes  discern  afar 
The  secret  ambush  of  a  specious  pray'r  ; 
Implore  His  aid,  in  His  decisions  rest, 
Secure,  whate'er  He  gives.  He  gives  the  best. 
Yet,  when  the  sense  of  sacred  presence  fires, 
And  strong  devotion  to  the  skies  aspires. 
Pour  forth  thy  fervors  for  a  healthful  mind, 
Obedient  passions,  and  a  will  resigned : 
For  love,  which  scarce  collective  man  can  fill ; 
For  patience,  sovereign  o'er  transmuted  ill ; 
For  faith,  that,  panting  for  a  happier  seat, 
Counts  death  kind  Nature's  signal  for  retreat : 
These  goods  for  man  the  laws  of  Heaven  ordain  ; 
■These  goods  He  grants  who  grants  the  power  to  gWB 
With  these,  celestial  Wisdom  calms  the  mind, 
And  makes  the  happiness  she  does  not  find. 


PART  SECOND. 


MARTIAL    AND  POPULAR. 


1.  SCIPIO  TO  HIS  ABMY.~  Abridgment  from  Livy. 

,^^!ZV\^''^^^^  of  Ticinus,  B.  C.  218,  in  which  the  Carthaginians,  under  Hamiba]  we« 
ffctonous.    The  speech  of  the  latter,  on  the  same  occasion,  follows.  ^amjoaj,  wew 

^  Not  because  of  their  courage,  0  soldiers,  but  because  an  eno-axrpmnnt 
IS  now  inevita!)le,  do  the  enemy  prepare  tor  battle.    Two-thirds  of  the!/ 
infantry  and  cavalry  have  been  lost  in  the  passage  of  the  Alps.  Thost 
who  survive  hardly  equal  in  number  those  who  have  perished 
fehould  any  one  say,  »  Though  few,  they  are  stout  and  irresistible,'"  J 
reply, -Not  so!  They  are  the  veriest  shadows  of  men  -  wretches 
emaciated  with   hunger,  and   benumbed  with  cold;   bruised  and 
enfeebled  among  the  rocks  and  crags;  theb-  joints  frost-bitten,  their 
smews  stiffened  with  the  snow,  their  armor  battGred  and  shivered 
their  horses  lame  and  powerless.    Such  is  the  cavalry,  such  the  in- 
fantry, against  which  you  have  to  contend ;  —  not  enemies,  but  shreds 
and  remnants  of  enemies !    And  I  fear  nothing  more,  than  that  when 
you  have  fought  Hannibal,  the  Alps  may  seem  to  have  been  before- 
hand,  and  to  have  robbed  you  of  the  renown  of  a  victory.    But  per- 
haps  it  was  fitting  that  the  Gods  themselves,  irrespective  of  hui^an 
aid,  should  commence  and  carry  forward  a  war  against  a  leader  and  a 
people  who  violate  the  faith  of  treaties;  and  that  we,  who  next  to 
the  Gods  have  been  most  injured,  should  complete  the  contest  thus 
commenced,  and  nearly  finished. 

I  would,  therefore,  have  you  fight,  0  soldiers,  not  only  with  that 
spirit  with  which  you  are  wont  to  encounter  other  enemies,  but  with  a 
certain  indignation  and  resentment,  such  as  you  might  experience  if 
you  should  see  your  slaves  suddenly  taking  up  arms  against  you.  Wo 
might  hav-  slain  these  Carthaginians,  when  they  were  shut  up  in 
±iryx,  by  hunger,  the  most  dreadful  of  human  tortures.  We  might 
have  carried  over  our  victorious  fleet  to  Africa,  and,  in  a  few  days 
have  destroyed  Carthage,  without  opposition.  V/e  yielded  to  their 
prayors  for  pardon;  we  released  them  from  the  blockade ;  we  made 
peace  with  them  when  conquered ;  and  we  afterwards  held  them  under 
our  protection,  when  they  were  borne  down  by  the  African  war  Ij^ 
return  for  these  benefits,  they  come,  under  the  leadership  of  a,  hot- 
brained  youth  to  lay  waste  our  country.  Ah !  would  that  the  con^ 
test  on  your  side  were  now  for  glory,  and  not  for  safety !    R.  is  not 


1^0^  THE  STANDARD  SIEARER 

for  th".  possession  of  Sicily  and  Sardinia,  but  for  Italy,  that  you  must 
ficlit :  noT  is  there  another  army  behind,  which,  should  we  fail  to  con- 
juer,  can  resist  the  enemy  ;  nor  are  there  other  Alps,  during  the 
«e  of  which,  fresh  forces  may  be  procured.  Here,  ^o^'^.  ll^'' 
le  must  maice  our  stand.  Here  we  must  fight,  as  if  we  fought  before 
the  walls  of  Rome  !  Let  every  man  l^ear  in  mind,  it  is  not  only  hu 
own  person,  but  his  wife  and  children,  he  must  now  defend.  Nor 
Z  thought  of  them  alone  possess  his  mind  Let  him  remcml>er 
that  the  li«man  Senate -the  Roman  People -are  lookmg,  wi  h 
anxious  eyes,  to  our  exertions  ;  and  that,  as  our jalor  and  our  strength 
BhaU  this  day  be,  such  will  be  the  fortune  of  Rome -such  the  wel- 
fare  — nay,  the  very  existence,  of  our  country  . 

2.  HANNIBAL  TO  HIS  AEKY.-^*ri<iirmenl  from  Livy. 

Heke,  soldiers,  you  most  either  conquer  or  die.  On  the  right  and 
left  two  seas  enclose  you  ;  and  you  have  no  ship  to  fly  to  for  escape 
The  river  Po  around  you,  -  the  Po,  larger  and  more  impetuous  than 
the  Rhone,  -  the  Alps  behind,  scarcely  passed  by  you  when  fresh  and 
vigorous,  hem  you  in'  Here  Fortune  h.^  granted  you  the  term.r^ 
t;°D  of  Vour  labors;  here  she  will  bestow  a  reward  worthy  of  the 
service  you  have  undergone.  All  the  spoils  that  Rome  has  amassea 
ly  so  mLy  triumphs  will  be  yours.  Think  not  that,  -  F0P«™ 
this  war  is  great  in  name,  the  victory  will  be  difficult  -'  rom  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules,  from  the  ocean,  from  the  remotest  limits  of  the 
world  over  mountains  and  rivers,  you  have  advanced  victonous 
Lough  the  fiercest  Nations  of  Gaul  and  Spam  And  with  whom 
are  jon  now  to  fight  ?  With  a  raw  army,  which  tins  very  summer 
wa^  beaten,  conquered,  and  surrounded;  an  «f  "T"! 

leader  and  he  to  tliem !  Shall  I  compare  myself,  almost  born,  and 
e^rS  nly  bred,  in  the  tent  of  my  father,  that  illustrious  commander, - 
myfelf,  the  conqueror,  not  only  of  the  Alpine  Nations  but  of  the 
A^ps  themselves, -myself,  who  was, the  P»P;l,°f  y°'^,  f '  '^^'l  I 
became  your  commander,  -  to  this  six  months' general  ?  or  shall  I 

'"or:h::  ^r^t^ft:.:  my  eye.  I  behold  all  full  of  courage 
and  strength : -a  veteran  infantry  ;  a  most  gal  ant  cavalry  ;  you.^our 
allies,  most  faithful  and  valiant;  you,  Caithagimans,  whon  not  on^ 
your  oountry's  caase,  but  the  justost  anger,  impels  to  battk.  Ihe 
Jalor,  the  confidence  of  invaders,  are  ever  greater  than  tho^  of  the 
aefei4ive  party.  As  the  assailants  in  this  war,  we  pour  down,  w  th 
S  e  standai-ds.  upon  Italy.  We  briiig  the  war.  Sufi-ering,  mjur, 
and  uidi-^nity,  Bre  our  minds.  First  they  demanded  me  your  leadei, 
?^^^p  Sin^r'it;  and  then  all  of  you,whohad  ^-^^-".f.^^^^^^' 
And  had  we  been  given  up,  they  woiUd  have  visited  us  with  the 
^vo^e  ftortures.  gruel  and  haughty  Nation  -  Ey^'-y f  'ng  mu^ 
00  yo,^s,  and  at  y»«r  disposal !    You  are  to  prescribe  to  us  w.td 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  REG  ULUS. 


105 


Khora  we  snaL  aave  war,  with  whom  peace  !  You  are  to  ami  us  m 
by  the  bo:mdaries  of  mountains  and  rivers,  which  we  must  not  pass ' 
But  you  —you  are  not  to  observe  the  limits  yourselves  have  an-* 
pointed!  "  Pass  not  the  Iberus!'> -What  next?  "  Saguntum  is  on 
tiie  Iberus.  You  must  not  move  a  step  in  any  direction  '"  —  Is  it  a 
Bmail  thing  that  you  have  deprived  us  of  our  most  ancient  provinces. 
feicilyandSardmia?  Will  you  take  Spain  also?  Should  we  yield 
bpam,  you  will  cross  over  into  Africa.     Will  cross,  did  I  say  ?  Thev 

Splinr""*        ^^"^  ^'''''''^  ''''^  ^^^^ther  to 

Soldiers,  there  is  nothing  left  to  us,  in  any  quarter,  but  what  we 
can  vindicate  with  our  swords.  Let  those  be  cowards  who  have 
Bomething  to  look  back  upon  ;  whom,  flying  through  safe  and  unmo- 
lested roads,  their  own  country  will  receive.  There  is  a  necessity  for 
us  to  be  brave    There  is  no  alternative  but  victory  or  death  ;  and,  if  it 

^''r.  9  n^f  -'  ^^"^  '^''^^^  ""^^  ^^^^^^  encounter  it  in  battle  than  in 
flight  i  Ihe  immortal  Gods  could  give  no  stronger  incentive  to  vie 
tory  ^  Let  but  these  truths  be  fixed  in  your  minds,  and  once  again  ^ 
proclaim,  you  are  conquerors  ! 


3.    REGULUS  TO  TIIE  ROJIAN  SENATE.  -  Ori^-ma^. 

Ill  does  it  become  me,  0  Senators  of  Rome  !  —  ill  does  it  become 
Kegulus,  —  after  having  so  often  stood  in  this  venerable  Assembly 
clothed  with  the  supreme  dignity  of  the  Republic,  to  stand  before 
you  a  captive  —  the  captive  of  Carthage  !  Though  outwardly  I  am 
tree,  —  though  no  fetters  encumber  the  limbs,  or  gall  the  flesh  —  vet 
the  heaviest  of  chains,  —  the  pledge  of  a  Roman  Consul,  —  makes  me 
the  bondsman  of  the  Carthaginians.  They  have  my  promise  to  return 
to  them,  m  the  event  of  the  failure  of  this  their  em*bassy.  My  life 
IS  at  their  mercy.  My  honor  is  my  own  ;  —  a  possession  which  no 
reverse  of  fortune  can  jeopard;  a  flame  which  imprisonment  cannot 
Btilie,  time  cannot  dim,  death  cannot  extinguish. 

Of  the  train  of  disasters  which  followed  close  on  the  unexampled 
Buccesses  of  our  arms,  —  of  the  bitter  fate  which  swept  ofl"  the  flower 
ot  our  soldiery,  and  consigned  me,  your  General,  wounded  and  sense- 
less, to  Carthaginian  keeping,  — I  will  not  speak.    For  five  years  a 
rigorous  captivity  ha^  been  my  portion.    For  five  years,  the  society  of 
family  and  friends,  the  dear  amenities  of  home,  the  sense  of  freedom 
and  the  sight  of  country,  have  been  to  me  a  recoUection  and  a  dream, 
—  no  more  !    But  during  that  period  Rome  has  retrieved  her  defeats 
8be  nas  recovered  under  Metellus  what  under  Regulus  she  lost.  She 
has  routed  armies.    She  has  taken  unnumbered  prisoners.    She  has 
Btruck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  Carthaginians;  who  have  now  sent 
me  hither  with  their  Ambassadors,  to  sue  for  peace,  and  to  propose 
that,  m  exchange  for  me,  your  former  Consul,  a  thousana  common! 
prison*3rs  of  war  shall  be  given  up.    You  have  heard  the  Amba&sa 


[06  THE  STAND  ASD  SPEAKEK. 

ilors  Their  intimations  of  some  unimaginable  horror  -  -  I  Know  not 
Rrhat  —impending  over  myself,  should  I  fail  to  induce  you  to  accept 
their  terms,  have  strongly  moved  your  sympathies  in  my  behalf 
Another  appeal,  which  I  would  you  might  have  been  spare  d,  has  lent 
force  to  their  suit. »  A  wife  and  children,  threatened  with  widowhooa 
and  orphanage,' weeping  and  despairing,  have  knelt  at  your  feet,  on  thft 
very  threshold  of  the  Senate-chamber. -(Conscript  Fathers!  Shall 
^lot  Reo-ulus  be  saved?  Must  he  return  to  Carthage  to  meet  the 
--ruolties  which  the  Ambassadors  brandish  before  our  eyes?— With 
one  voice  you  answer,  No  !  —  Countrymen  !  Friends  !  For  all  that  I 
have  sufiered  — for  all  that  I  may  have  to  suffer  — I  am  repaid  in 
the  compensation  of  this  moment!  Unfortunate,  you  may  hold  me; 
but,  (3,  not  undeserving!  Your  confidence  in  my  honor  survives  ail 
the  ruin  that  adverse  fortune  could  inflict.  You  have  not  forgotten 
the  Dast.  Republics  are  not  ungrateful !  May  the  thanks  ].  cannot 
litter  hvimr  down  blessings  from  the  Gods  on  you  and  Rome  !J 

Conscript  Fathers !    There  is  but  one  course  to  be  pursued.  Aban- 
lon  all  thoucrht  of  peace.    Reject  the  overtures  of  Carthage  !  Reject 
them  wholly  and  unconditionally!    What!   Give  back  to  her  a 
thousand  able-bodied  men,  and  receiv^  in  return  this  one  attenuated, 
war-worn,  fever-wasted  frame,  — this  weed,  whitened  m  a  dungeons 
darkness,  pale   and   sapless,  which   no  kindness   of  the   sun,  no 
softness  of  the  summer  breeze,  can  ever  restore  to  health  and  vigor  i 
It  must  not  —  it  shall  not  be  !    0  !  were  Regfilus  what  he  was  once, 
before  captivity  had  unstrung  his  sinews  and  enervated  his  limbs, 
h3  might  pause,  — he  might  proudly  think  he  were  well  worth  a 
thousand  of  the  foe  ;  —  he  might  say,  "  Make  the  exchange  !  Rome 
shall  not  lose  by  it!"    But  now  — alas!  now  't  is  gone, -that 
impetuosity  of  strength,  which  could  once  make  him  a  leader  indeed, 
to  penetrate  a  phalanx  or  guide  a  pursuit.    His  very  armor  would  be 
a  burthen  now.    His  battle-cry  would  be  drowned  m  the  dm  of  the 
onset.    His  sword  would  fall  harmless  on  his  opponent's  shield.  J3ut, 
if  he  cannot  live,  he  can  at  least  die,  for  his  country  '    Do^  not  deny 
him  this  supreme  consolation.     Consider :  every  indignity,  every 
torture,  which  Carthage  shall  heap  on  his  dying  hours,  will  be  better 
than  a  trumpet's  call  to  your  armies.    They  will  remember  only 
Regains,  their  fellow-soldier  and  their  leader.    They  will  forget  hia 
deftats.    They  will  regard  only  his  services  to  the  Republic  iunis, 
Sardinia,  Sicily,  -  every  well-fought  field,  won  by  hs  blood  and 
theirs  —  will  flash  on  their  remembrance,  and  kindle  their  avenging 
wrath'    And  so  shall  Regains,  though  dead,  fight  as  he  never  fought 

befor-  against  the  foe.  ht        -i  c^^ 

Conscript  Fathers  !  There  is  another  theme.  My  family -- for- 
give the  thought!  To  you,  and  to  Rome,  I  confide  them.  I  leave 
them  no  legacy  but  my  name,  —  no  testament  but  ray  example. 

AmbassSiors  of  Carthage  I  have  spoken;  though  not  as  you 
expected.  I  am  your  captive.  Lead  me  back  to  whatever  fate  may 
await  me.  Doubt  not  that  you  shall  find,  to  Roman  hearts,  countxjf 
^  dearer  than  life,  and  integrity  more  precious  thau  freedom ! 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  BRUTUS 


*  LEONILAS  TO  HIS  THREE  HUNDRED.  _  On.nnaZ  Translation  from  Pickat. 

Ye  men  of  Sparta  listen  to  the  hope  with  which  the  Gois  inspire 
Leonidas  !  Consider  how  largely  our  death  maj  redound  to  the  glorv 
and  benefit  of  our  country.  Against  this  barbarian  King,  who,  in  hi? 
battle  array,  reckons  as  many  nations  as  our  ranks  do  soldiers,  what 
could  united  Greece  effect?  In  this  emergency  there  is  need  that 
^me  unexpected  power  should  interpose  itself;  — that  a  valor  and 
devotion  unknown  hitherto,  even  to  Sparta,  should  strike,  amaze, 
eonfound  this  ambitious  Despot !    From  our  blood,  here  freely  shed 

7^'  t  n        ^^''""^  P^"^^""'        '""^^^^^  ^^^'^0^  0^  patriotism,  pro- 
ceed.   To  Greece  It  shall  teach  the  secret  of  her  strength:  to  the 
l  ersians,  the  certainty  of  their  weakness.    Before  our  scarred  and 
bleeding  bodies,  we  shall  see  the  great  King  grow  pale  at  his  own 
victory,  and  recoi  affrighted.    Or,  should  he  succeed  in  forcing  the 
pass  ofThermopylae,  he  will  tremble  to  learn,  that,  in  marching  upo« 
^^.if    T  V     ^?^'t"  ihou^^nd.,  after  us,  equally  prepared  for 
death. ^  Ten  thousand,  do  I  say?  0,  the  swift  contagion  of  a^generou. 
enthusiasm!    Our  example  shall  make  Greece  all  fertile  in  heroe. 
An  avenging  cry  shall  follow  the  cry  of  her  affliction.    Countrv  • 
Independence!    ^rom  the  Messenian  hills  to  the  Hellespont,  every 
heart  shall  respond;  and  a  hundred  thousand  heroes,  with  one  sacred 
accord,  shall  arm  themselves  in  emulation  of  our  unanimous  death. 
Hiese  rocks  shall  give  back  the  echo  of  their  oaths.    Then  shall  our 
little  band,  — the  brave  three  hundred,  —  from  the  world  of  shades 
revisit  the  scene;  behold  the  haughty  Xerxes,  a  fagitive,  re-cross  tS 
Hellespont  m  a  frad  bark ;  while  Greece,  after  eclipsing  the  mos 
glorious  of  her  exploits,  shall  hallow  a  new  Olympus  in  the  mound 

that  mvpra  nny  +nTviKo  ^  ^^u-uu 


Yes,  fellow-soldiers,  history  and  posterity  shall  consecrate  our  ashes 
merever  courage  is  honored,  through  all  time,  shall  Thermopyl^  and 
the  Spartan  three  hundred  be  remembered.  Ours  shaU  be  an  immor- 
tality  such  as  no  human  glory  has  yet  attained.  And  when  ages  shall 
have  swept  by  and  Sparta's  last  hour  shall  have  come,  then,  even 
m  her  rums  shall  she  be  eloquent.  Tyrants  shall  turn  away  from 
them,  appalled  ;  but  the  heroes  of  liberty  — the  poets  the  sais  fh« 
historians  of  all  time-shall  invoke  and  bless  tL  Lm^^^^^^^^^  Z 
gaUant  three  hundred  of  Leonldas  !  ^ 


6.   BRUTUS  OVER  THE  DEAD  LUCRETIA.  -  Original  and  Comp^.ea. 

You  are  amazed,  0  Eomans!  even  amid  the  general  horror  ai 
ter\    i^^'iw  ^^^"^       ^^^^  bit^^rto  only  i 

n-/  ;  .1   J-u  f  ^^"g^^ge       bearing  of  a  man 

R  ?rV-^'  p  ^^^^^^      ^^"^^  fr^^  ?    I      that  fc^^ ; 

Brutus  bids  Rome  be  free  !    If  he  has  played  the  fool,  it  was  to  sd  a 
wise  man's  opportumty    Here  he  throws  off  the  mask  of  madness 
L^-.trT^.  l^T.  now,  your  countryman,  who  calls  upon  you,  b| 
this  lOQCcent  blood,  to  swear  eternal  vengeance  against  kings  ' 


IQ^  THE  STANDARD  SPEAK.EK. 

Look,  Romans!  turn  your  eyes  on  tliis  sad  spectacle 'ht 
aaughtei-  of  Lucretius,  Collatmus'  wife  !  By  her  own  hand  she  died 
See  there  a  nc.ie  lady,  whom  the  ruffian  lust  of  a  Tarqum  reduced  to 
the  necessity  of  being  her  own  executioner,  to  attest  her  mnocence 
fl,>spitably  entertained  by  her  as  her  husband's  kmsman,  Sextus,  the 
.erfidiousVest,  became  her  brutal  ravisher  The  chaste,  the  genorou« 
Lcretia,  could  not  survive  the  outrage.  Heroic  matron !  But  cm^ 
)nly  treated  as  a  slave,  life  was  no  longer  endurable!  And  it  .he, 
with  her  soft  woman's  nature,  disdained  a  life,  that  depended  Dn  a 
tyrant's  wiU,  shall  we  — shall  men,  with  such  an  example  betoro 
their  eyes,  and  after  five-and-twenty  years  of  ignominious  servitude 
-shall  we,  through  a  fear  of  death,  delay  one  moment  to  assert  our 
freedom  ?  No,  Romans  !  The  favorable  moment  is  come  The  tnrio 
IS  —  now  !  Fear  not  that  the  army  will  take  the  part  of  their  ben- 
erals,  rather  than  of  the  People.  The  love  of  liberty  is  natural  to  all ; 
and  ;our  fellow-citizens  in  the  Camp  feel  the  weight  of  oppression  as 
sensibly  as  you.  Doubt  not  they  wHl  as  eagerly  sei.:e  the  opportunity 
of  throwing  off  their  yoke.  u^„^ 

Courage,  Romans!  The  Gods  are  for  us!  those  (^ods  whose  tem- 
pies  and  "altars  the  impious  Tarquin  has  profaned.  By  the  blood  of 
the  wronged  Lucretia,  I  swear,  -  hear  me,  ye  Powers  Supreme  !  - 
this  blood,  which  was  once  so  pure,  and  which  nothing  but  roy"ny 
could  have  polluted,  - 1  swear  that  I  will  pursue  to  the  ^^^f^f^^'^ 
Tarquins,  with  fire  and  sword  ;  nor  will  I  ever  suffer  any  one  of  that 
family,  or  of  any  other  family  whatsoever,  to  be  King  m  Rome .  — 
On  to  the  Forum!  Belr  the  body  hence,  high  in  the  pnbhc Jiew 
through  all  the  streets  !  On,  Romans,  on!  The  fool  shall  set  jox^ 
free !   ^  ■ 

»  REPLY  OF  ACHILLES  TO  THE  ENVOYS  OP  AGAMEMNON,  SOLlCrilNG  i  BXO 
9    uiiit-iix  yj  o^GlUATlQ^.—Cowper's  Homer. 

■    I  MUST  with  plainness  speak  my  fixed  resolve ; 
For  I  abhor  the  man,  —  not  more  the  gates 
Of  hell  itself!  — whose  words  belie  his  heart. 
So  shall  not  mine  !   My  judgment  undisguised 
Is  this :  that  neither  Agamemnon  me  , 
Nor  all  the  Greeks  shall  move !    For  ceaseless  M 
Wins  here  no  thanks ;  one  recompense  awaits 
The  sedentary  and  the  most  alert ! 
The  brave  and  base  in  equal  honor  stand,  — 
And  drones  and  heroes  fall  unwept  alike ' 
I,  after  all  my  labors,  who  exposed 
My  life  continual  in  the  field,  have  earned 
No  very  sumptuous  prize !    As  the  poor  bird 
Gives  to  her  unfledged  brood  a  morsel  gained 
After  long  search,  though  wanting  it  herself, 
So  I  have  worn  out  many  sleepless  nights. 
And  waded  deep  through  many  a  bloody  day 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  HOMW^ 

In  "battle  for  their  wives.    I  have  dest^eJ     jLliDj;\^^  jv'V 

Twelve  cities  with  my  fleet ;  and  twelv^^ve  one 

On  foot  contending,  in  the  fields  of  Troy/^^    v.  "^^^J^^" 

From  all  these  cities  precious  spoil  T  took  ^^^^jLJIvJ  Ql^' 

Abundant,  and  to  Agamemnon's  hand  ^'^^'SSs^s^Sii?-^ 

Gave  all  the  treasure.    He  within  his  ships 

Abode  the  while,  and,  having  all  received, 

Little  distributed,  and  much  retained. 

He  gave,  however,  to  the  Kings  and  Chiefs 

A  portion,  and  they  keep  it.    Me  alone, 

Of  all  the  Grecian  host,  hath  he  despoiled ! 

My  bride,  my  soul's  delight,  is  in  his  hands ! 

Tell  him  my  reply : 

And  tell  it  him  aloud,  that  other  Greeks 
May  indignation  feel  like  me,  if,  armed 
Always  in  inipudence,  he  seek  to  wrong 
Them  also.    Let  him  not  henceforth  presume  — 
Canine  and  hard  in  aspect  though  he  be  — 
To  look  me  in  the  face.    I  will  not  share 
His  counsels,  neither  will  I  aid  his  works. 
Let  it  suffice  him,  that  he  wronged  me  once,  — 
Deceived  me  once ;  —  henceforth  his  glozing  arts 
Are  lost  on  me !    But,  let  him  rot  in  peace, 
Crazed  as  he  is,  and,  by  the  stroke  of  Jove, 
Infatuate !  I  detest  his  gifts  !  —  and  him 
So  honor  as  the  thing  which  most  I  scorn ! 
And  would  he  give  me  twenty  times  the  worth 
Of  this  his  offer,  —  all  the  treasured  heaps 
WTiich  he  possesses,  or  shall  yet  possess. 
All  that  Orchomenos  within  her  walls. 
And  all  that  opulent  Egyptian  Thebes 
Receives,  —  the  city  with  a  hundred  gates, 
Whence  twenty  thousand  chariots  rush  to  war,  — 
And  would  he  give  me  riches  as  the  sands, 
And  as  the  dust  of  earth,  —  no  gifts  from  him. 
Should  soothe  me,  till  my  soul  were  first  avenged 
For  all  the  offensive  license  of  his  tongue. 
I  will  not  wed  the  daughter  of  your  Chief,  — 
Of  Agamemnon.    Could  she  vie  in  charms 
With  golden  Venus,  —  had  she  all  .the  skill 
Of  blue-eyed  Pallas,  —  even  so  endowed. 
She  were  no  bride  for  me  ! 
Bear  ye  mine  answer  back. 


HECTOR'S  KEBUKE  TO  POLYDAM AS.  —  Cou-per^ /fowift-.  i^ia^sA. 

PoLYDAMAS  to  dauutlcss  Hoctor  spake : 
Oittimes  in  council,  Hector,  thou  art  wont 


lie 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


To  censure  me,  although  advising  well 
Yet  hear  my  best  opinion  once  again . 
l^rooeed  we  not  in  our  attempt  against 
The  Grecian  fleet.    The  omens  we  have  seen 
All  urge  against  it.    When  the  eagle  flew,  ^ 
Clutching  the  spotted  snake,  then  dropping  it 
Into  the  open  space  between  the  hosts, 
Troy's  host  was  on  the  left.    Was  this  propitionf 
No.    Many  a  Trojan  shall  we  leave  behind, 
Slain  by  the  Grecians  in  their  fleet's  defence^ 
An  augur  skilled  in  omens  would  expound 
This  omen  thus,  and  faith  would  win  from  all. 

To  whom  dark-louring  Hector  thus  replied : 
Polydumas !    I  like  not  thy  advice ; 
Thou  couldst  have  framed  far  better ;  but  if  this 
Be  thy  deliberate  judgment,  then  the  Gods 
Make  thy  deliberate  judgment  nothing  worth, 
Who  bidd  'st  me  disregard  the  Thunderer's  firm 
Assurance  to  myself  announced,  and  make 
The  wild  inhabitants  of  air  my  guides, 
Which  I  alike  despise,  speed  they  their  course 
With  right-hand  flight  toward  the  ruddy  East, 
Or  leftward  down  into  the  shades  of  eve ! 
Consider  we  the  will  of  Jove  alone. 
Sovereign  of  Heaven  and  Earth.    Omens  abound  ; 
But  the  best  omen  is  our  country's  cause.* 
Wherefore  should  fiery  war  thy  soul  alarm  ? 
For  were  we  slaughtered,  one  and  all,  around  ^ 
The  fleet  of  Greece,  thou  need'st  not  fear  to  die, 
Whose  courage  never  will  thy  flight  retard. 
But  if  thou  shrink  thyself,  or  by  smooth  speech 
Seduce  one  other  from  a  soldier's  part, 
Pierced  by  this  spear  incontinent  thou  diest ! 


l    HECTOR'S  EXPLOIT  AT  THE  BARRIERS  OF  THE  GRECIAN  FIEET.^  Idem 

So  hung  the  war  in  balance,  — 
Till  Jove  himself,  superior  fame,  at  length. 
To  Priameian  Hector  gave,  who  sprang 
First  through  the  wall.    In  loAy  sounds  thai  reached 
Their  utmost  ranks,  he  called  on  all  his  host : 

Now  press  them !  now,  ye  Trojans,  steed-renowned, 
Rush  on !  break  through  the  Grecian  rampart !  hurl 
At  once  devouring  flames  into  the  fleet ! 

Such  was  his  exhortation.    They,  his  voice 

•  The  nobleness  of  this  reply  may  have  been  paralleled,  but  not  Burpaawd.  In 
struts  of  B  ioceeding  times. 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  HOMER. 


AH  hearing,  with  close-ordered  ranks,  direct 
Bore  on  the  barrier,  and  up-swarming  showed 
On  the  high  battlement  their  glittering  spears. 
But  Hector  seized  a  stone ;  of  ample  base, 
But  tapering  to  a  point;  before  the  gate 
It  stood.    No  two  men,  mightiest  of  a  land 
(Such  men  as  now  are  mighty),  could  with  ease 
Have  heaved  it  from  the  earth  up  to  a  wain ; 
He  swung  it  easily  alone,  —  so  light 
The  son  of  Saturn  made  it  in  his  hand. 
As  in  one  hand  with  ease  the  shepherd"  bears 
A  ram's  fleece  home,  nor  toils  beneath  the  wniehi. 
bo  Hector,  right  toward  the  planks  of  those 
Majestic  folding-gates,  close-jointed,  firm 
And  solid,  bore  the  stone.    Two  bars  within 
Their  corresponding  force  combined  transverse 
To  guard  them,  and  one  bolt  secured  the  bars. 
He  stood  fast  by  them,  parting  wide  his  feet 
^or  'vantage  sake,  and  smote  them  in  the  midst. 
He  burst  both  hinges ;  inwai-d  fell  the  rock 
Ponderous,  and  the  portals  roared ;  the  bars 
Endured  not,  and  the  planks,  riven  by  the  force 
Of  that  huge  mass,  flew  scattered  on  all  sid^^s. 
In  leaped  the  godlike  Hero  at  the  breach, 

oomy  as  night  in  aspect,  but  in  arms 
All-dazzling,  and  he  grasped  two  quivering  spears 
Him  entering  with  a  leap  the  gates,  no  force 
Whate'er  of  opposition  had  repressed, 
Save  of  the  Gods  alone.    Fire  filled  his  eyes", 
Turning,  he  bade  the  multitude  without 
Ascend  the  rampart ;  they  his  voice  obeyed ; 
Part  climbed  the  wall,  part  poured  into  the  gate 
I  he  (xrecians  to  their  hollow  galleys  flew, 
Scattered ;  and  tumult  infinite  arose. 


9.    HECTOR  SLAIN  BY  ACHILLES. -Co w,;,er',  homer 

Bright  as  among  the  stars  the  star  of  all, 
Most  radiant  Hesperus,  at  midnight  moves, 
So  in  the  right  hand  of  Achilles  beamed 
His  brandished  spear,  while,  meditating  woe 
To  Hector,  he  explored  his  noble  form, 
Seeking  where  he  was  vulnerable  most.' 
But  every  part,  his  dazzling  armor,  torn 
From  brave  Patroclus'  body,  well  secured. 
Save  wheie  the  circling  key-bone  from  the  neck 
Di^oms  the  shoulder    there  his  throat  appeared 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Wtence  injured  life  with  swiftest  flight  escapee. 
Achilles,  plunging  in  that  part  his  spear, 
Impelled  it  through  the  yielding  flesh  beyond. 
The  ashen  beam  his  power  of  utterance  left 
Still  unimpaired,  but  in  the  dust  he  fell 
And  the  exulting  conqueror  exclaimed 

But  Hector ;  thou  had'st  once  far  other  hopes, 
And,  stripping  slain  Patroclus,  thought'st  thee  safe. 
Nor  cared'st  for  absent  me.    "Fond  dream  and  vam ! 
I  was  not  distant  far.    In  yonder  fleet 
He  left  one  able  to  avenge  his  dea  th,  ^ 
And  he  hath  slain  thee.    Thee  the  dogs  shall  rend 
Dishonorably,  and  the  fowls  of  air,— 
But  all  Achaia's  host  shall  Mm  entomb  ! 

To  whom  the  Trojan  Chief  languid  replied  : 
By  thy  own  life  — by  theirs  who  gave  thee  birth  — 
And  by  thy  knees  —  0  !  let  not  Grecian  dogs 
Rend  and  devour  me ;  but  in  gold  accept 
And  brass  a  ransom  at  my  father's  hands, 
And  at  my  mother's  an  illustrious  price. 
Send  home  my  body !  —  grant  me  burial  rites 
Among  the  daughters  and  the  sons  of  Iroy ! 

To  whom,  with  aspect  stern,  Achilles  thus  i 
Dog !  neither  knees  nor  parents  name  to  me ! 
I  would  my  fierceness  of  revenge  were  such 
That  I  could  carve  and  eat  thee,  to  whose  arms 
Such  griefs  I  owe ;  so  true  it  is  and  sure 
That  none  shall' save  thy  carcass  from  the  dogs  ! 
No,  trust  me,  would  thy  parents  bring  me,  weighed, 
Ten  —  twenty  —  ransoms,  and  engage,  on  oath, 
To  add  still  more ;  —  would  thy  Dardanian  Sire, 
Priam,  redeem  thee  with  thy  weight  in  gold,  — 
Not  even  at  that  price  would  I  consent 
That  she  who  bare  should  place  thee  on  thy  bier. 
With  lamentation  I    Dogs  and  ravemng  fowls 
Shall  rend  thy  body,  while  a  shred  remains ! 

Then,  dying,  warlike  Hector  thus  replied 
Full  well  I  knew  before  how  suit  of  mine  ^ 
Should  speed,  preferred  to  thee.    Thy  heart  is  steel 
But  0!  while  yet  thou  liv'st,  think,  lest  the  Gods 
Requite  thee  on  that  day,  when,  pierced  thyself, 
By  Paris  and  Apollo,  thou  shalt  fall, 
Brave  as  thou  art,  before  the  Scaean  gate ! 

He  ceased ;  and  death  involved  him  dark  around. 
His  spirit,  from  his  limbs  dismissed,  the  house 
Of  Adcs  sought,  mourning,  in  her  descent, 
Youth's  prime  and  vigor  lost,  —  disastrous  doom 


MARTIAL  AND   POPULAR.  —  PENELON. 

But  him  though  dead,  Achilles  thus  bespake  ; 
I)ie  thou  !    M/  death  shall  find  me  at  what  hour 
Jove  gives  commandment,  and  the  Gods  above 


a    XEIEMACmiS  TO  THE  ALLIED  CHIEFS. -^^ene.on.    ^o.„,  1651 ;  uil 
Original  Abridgment. 

Fellow-solmers  and  confederated  chiefs '    I  mt  vn,-   If  „ 
«an  deserved  to  We  the  weapon  of  stratagem  S  decei't  taZI 
against  h.m,  ,t  ,s  he  who  has  used  it  himself  so  often  -  the  S 

stn*t„''d"bTloultterb';'fraidt  Tf  r  — -  P-MiL? 
of  Adrastus  without  ^l^'J.^:,  I^t 
presen  attempt  to  punish  him  is  unwarrantable.    You  have  "  wo  " 
of  the  W^iZ'  a  depo.sit  in  lheTaS 

Seri'ditrrhirUet::;  ;i  sst  "LTf^ 

still  subsisting;  and  the  Gods'haye  nottrgXTjour  oal 
.i^trS^^^^^^  fhaS\n^t.t  tred  o^Sg  t 

frus  you  What  security  can  you  ever  give  for  Ir  Ld  fall 
A  solemn  treaty  ?     You  have  trampled  one  under  f  J     fn  oath  - 

defied  the  7X    ir''"''         -rr^  ™^  P™fi'*.  »d  have 

jreoSry:^.£; 

Id  astus      HeTll'^rP'"-.  P^'-j"^       ^  '^1  triumphT 

Aarastns !    He  will  not  need  to  attack  you  himself    ynnr  own 
teeasions  your  own  mistrusts,  your  own  duplicity  wOl  be  yo^ 

^    °.  Z''"'*^'  '•^"^"'^'^        "magnanimity  and  wbdom 
nenu^d  and  brave  governing  uncounted  thousands,  _  despir^rC 
amiisel  of  a  you  h !    To  whatever  extremity  war  may  reduce  v  ,  W 

dC;ir~if%''"^^'"^        t'f-  forl^^e  ran';t'^ 

despair.    But   f  you  once  pass  the  barrier  of  honor  and  integrity, 

^jrj:^Z^T^^  .         -  -ther  ree:stfblis^: 


the  ruin 


that  coiifideuoe  without  which*-;;" T4ir  of  imll^r  ^  «d 
nor  can  you  briug  men  back  to  the  reverence  of  tto  v  ,U"h  ch  ™u 
have  taught  them  to  despise.  What  have  you  to  fear  /  ll  notour 
eomage  equal  tc  victory,  without  the  aid  of  fraud  ?  Your  o™  poC 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

Mv"^  thrimp^L  Adr'a^tuB,  is  In  our  power,  provided - 

Sded  "dain  to  imitate  the  cowardice  and  treachery  «hich 

have  sealed  his  ruin  ! 

U    TITTTS  QTTINTIUS  AGAINST  QUARRELS  BETWEEN  THE  SENATE 
U.  Tirbb  uuiiMxu^  PEOPLE.  — ^6rid§7nen« /row  LiuJ/. 

Though  I  am  comcions  of  no  fault,  0  Romans,  i'  i^^^^f, 
at^st  shame  I  have  come  forward  to  l^-l  ^^^y;^^^::^^ 
Been  it-  posterity  will  know  it  -  that,  ™  j,  ^  ,„a 

L'^^ishoSd^ed.inniy^ird^^ 

„ostdasta«Uy  — J^Z^^^^^^^^^  If  you,  Romans, 

Trtt  bir  m%Cit  <>oa-or  m^  make  yo^^^^^^^^^ 

offences !  -  only  may  you  repent.  No,  Romans  the  conM 

enemies  is  not  from  a  belief  m  their  own  themselves 

granted  Tribunes    Yon -ere  ^ger  to  ^^ve  De^mv  _  ^ 
^^^XtelrSlf^the-tl^t  te  these  dissension..  Wl^n 

t^Z^,  SdS  t:fd  in  .J.,  the  whol, 

country  laid  waste  with  fire  and  .  ;     ,    g^eui  the  spell  0< 

Extinguish,  0  Romans,  these  fetal  .    ,  '^jf  you 

this  enchantment,  which  ren  e^^^^^^^^ 

md  put  to  flight  these  ravagers  of  our  teintoiies,  ana 
9wn  cities  the  terror  of  wai 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAJR.  —  salluST.  XI 5 

statues  "  they  exclaim     ■'  IT»  at  "us.      He  has  no  faniUi 

cestors  "    WhatTen'    Wnr'?  7"*  "'"^''-ious  line  cf  ai 

»es,  help  figJy„Ltt"ies»    tut  ''"T°'^  "oti°nles. 
these,  irt  the  perilous  houA'    R  »    •       ^""^  '°  "PP^^l  to 

.    men,  to  intruft  th:  of^^u  "™Ttr"'' 

cation  for  it  would  be  the  virtue  of  h  s  f„  °f T  71  ""'^  "l"*"^- 
and  unexperienced  butofnm.t  ,1  ^''rf^'^'-s  !  to  one  untried 

Bhow  a  solitary  scar  bit  "  lmhf%  "'"'  ^T''^'  ""^^  """l-l 
not  the  first  rudinenl  of  CrK/     ""''''^^  "''"knew 
Truly  I  have  known  of  such  hX',,  !  P'"  '''''^-*  '°  P'^'^igrees! 

considerations,  to  a  comrTand  fc^Me^ 

when  the  n>o,nent  for  acStri  -ed  e  IS  i^'th'"^'' "  ' 
and  trepidation,  to  mve  to  ,o,„p  infl  •  their  ignorance 

Plebeii     theWer1^;%?er;:o':Znf°^^-'"  son.  despised 

,  thesTttlll^eT'te^^^^^^^^^ 

read,  I  have  achieved  or  sha  ed  if    wt^l  "P^"™'' 
books,  r  have  seen  written  on  ba  tl.  fi  U      .u"^  ''f "  ^"t'-^" 
object  to  my  humbir  birth     t?"'''-''"''^''  ™'">        »d  Wood.  They 
tentobjectio^nl    I^n^ml'JiL  s^e  ^^wLfe  S'^^^^^  M 
(bear  witness,  Gods!), -where  but  in  thl       -l  "^'^  "^^ 

lodged?  and  where  hi  dishnnn.  h  V"  ^  P'"*'  1^'^  "o^ility  be 
his  unworthy  deel'  ?  Te  fthe/e'  r^Ws  ^tTl  """^'^  '"^"''°''>  " 
haughty  lineage  could  not  mT.  ,t  ^^faction,  their 

never  make  ml  base  noble- my  hun-ble  birth  could 

I  profess  no  indifference  to  noble  descent     T*  ;»         j  • 
number  great  men  among  one's  aneestrv     R,,,    I,       T**  "".'"S  ^ 
dwarfed  in  the  comparison  it  sho.tu  h„    '  "l'?  ^  descendant  ia 

a  boa.t.    These  PatrSs'cannot       '  ■  u  ^  'haa 

titles  of  nobility  da  e  fern  Lell^^^^^^^  "-'V  ^''"'^>  *heir 
myself  have  rendered.    Ld  .'f  T        T"'"'  ""^i^l-  ^ 

I  can  show  the  standards  the  atlr  "°  '^""'•S'  ' 

have  wrested  from  th   UlisCd  '  ^ 
fvounds  received  in  combat,°nrtL        •  '^'"'^  -^^y 

statues!  These  the  honor  4„La^^^^^^^^  i"™  "J 

8nce,Iike  theirs;  but  earned  bv  t^I  '«"'«f<3ental  inherit, 

douds  of  dust  and  sea^  of  blood    .    ^  ™lor;  amid 

effeminate  Patricians Tho  w™,U  '  ^  "^^'tion,  in  wnich  these 
have  never  da™d  to'  app  j  e^'ec™, 
Romans,  are  «v  credeE. '"i;    '        ''•^f       ^P^^tators  !  Here. 


116 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


HL  CAIUS  ORVCCHUP.  cited  before  the  censors,  Ai-PEAIfl  TC 
IS.  CAIUS  Adaptation  from  J.  S.  ^ 

It  appears 
[  am  cited  here  because  I  have  returned 
Without  my  General's  leave,  and  for  the  crime 
Of  having  raised  the  tumult  at  Fregella.  ^ 
First,  with  the  first.    I  have  remained  my  time 
Nay,  I  have  over-served  it  by  the  laws,  — 
The  laws  which  Caius  Gracchus  dares  not  break. 
But,  Censors,  let  that  pass.    I  will  propose 
A  better  question  for  your  satisfaction  :  — 
"  How  have  I  served  my  time  ?  "    I  'H  answer  that :  — 
"  How  have  I  served  my  time  ?    For  mine  own  gain, 
Or  that  of  the  Republic  ?  "    What  was  my  office  ? 
Qusestor.    What  was  its  nature  ?    Lucrative,  — 
So  lucrative,  that  all  my  predecessors 
Who  went  forth  poor  returned  home  very  rich. 
I  went  forth  poor  enough. 
But  have  returned  still  poorer  than  I  went. 
Ye  citizens  of  Rome,  behold  what  favor 
Your  masters  show  your  brethren !    I  have  borne 
My  country's  arms  with  honor  ;  over-served 
My  time ;  returned  in  poverty,  that  might 
Have  amassed  treasures,  —  and  they  thus  reward  me :  - 
Prefer  a  charge  against  me  without  proof, 
Direct  or  indirect ;  without  a  testimony, 
Weighty  or  light ;  without  an  argument, 
Idle  or  plausible ;  without  as  much 
Of  feasibility  as  would  suffice  ^ 
To  feed  suspicion's  phantom  !    Why  is  this  ? 
How  have  I  bought  this  hatred  ?   When  my  brother, 
Tiberius  Q-racchus,  fell  beneath  their  blows, 
I  called  them  not  assassins !    When  his  friends 
Fell  sacrifices  to  their  after-vengeance, 
I  did  not  style  them  butchers '  —  did  not  name  them 
'  The  proud,  perfidious,  insolent  Patricians ! 
Ye  men  of  Rome,  there  is  no  favor,  now. 
For  justice !    Grudgingly  her  dues  are  granted  ! 
Your  great  men  boast  no  more  the  love  of  country. 
They  count  their  talents;  measure  their  domains; 
Enlarge  their  palaces ;  dress  forth  their  banquets ; 
Awake  their  lyres  and  timbrels;  and  with  their  floodi 
Of  ripe  Falernian  drown  the  little  left 
Of  virtue !  —  Romans,  I  would  be  your  Tribune. 
Fear  not.  Censors !    I  would  raise  no  tumult ; 
This  hand 's  the  first  to  arm  against  the  man 
Whoe'er  he  be,  that  favors  civil  discord  * 


PARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  TACITOS. 

I  have  no  gust  for  blood,  nor  for  oppression . '       '  ' 
i  sacrifice  to  Justice  and  to  Mercv  ' 

Th.  wVl.r  Vi^^!  •  ^^'^^^^^  right  the  guard  • 
The  wealth,  the  happiness,  the  freedom  of  ^ 

Sold  ^t"""  ■    ^^^'".^^  ^'^^'^^  tl^em, 

•^d  them  corrupted  them  from  the  pure  letter  ? 
Why  do  they  guard  the  rich  man's  cloak  from  a  rent, 
And  tear  the  poor  man's  garment  from  his  back  ? 
Why  are  they,  m  the  proud  man's  grasp,  a  sword. 
And  m  the  hand  of  the  humble  man,  a  r;ed  ?  ' 

i)emand  them  m  my  country's  sacred  name! 
btill  silent  ?    Reckless  still  of  my  appeal  ? 
KomanF  '  I  ask  the  office  of  your  Tribune ! 

1.  GALaACIIS  TO  THE  CALE^^^^^LTI;".,,, 

=t=  riE^^cr^rfrf r  ^^^^ 

coTeted  by  their  ranaoitv     tT         a-  poverty  are  alike 

'^resnnieIfXeprl^S\I\T^f'  *»  make  seiz- 

a  desert,  they  Xt  ^eao;*       ^  '  t'"'?  ™ta 

r^xxTe^t^fr^^^^^^^^ 

ter^„j-h/rr^  ftS-  — 

.hed  tears  oStaIn T  thelr^Juc^^  Twt''"  ''t'  T\'' 


THE  STANDARD  gPEAKER- 

the  very  line  of  the  enemy  we  shall  find  friends  Britom,  ^^^^ 

(,auls  the  rrermans,  will  recognize  their  own  cause  n  ours.  Here  ii 
a  laL  her '  an  army  !  There  are  tributes,  and  levies  and  badges 
of trvM^^  which  to  assume,  or  to  trample  under  foot 

tever,  Ses  now  in^the  power  of  your  arms  Forth  then,  Oaledon^^^^^ 
^  the  Md!    Think  of  your  ancestors!    Think  of  your  descendante > 

i&.   ICILIUS  ON  VIRGINIA'S  SEIZURE.  -  T.  B.  Macaulay. 

Now  by  your  children's  cradles,  —  now,  by  your  fathers'  gravos, 
Be  men  to-dny,  QuirTtes,  or  be  forever  slaves  ! 
"s  did  Servius  give  us  laws  ?    For  this  did  T--rece  bleed^^ 
For  this  was  the  great  vengeance  wrought  on  Tarqums  evil  seed  I 
F  ,  tb^s  did  those  false  sons  make  red  the  axes  of  their  sire  ? 
For  this  did  Scaevola's  right  hand  hiss  in  the  Tuscan  fire^? 
Shall  the  vile  earth-tbx  awe  the  race  that  stormed  he  ^'^^^  f^l  , 
Shall  we,  who  co^ald  not  brook  o- lord  c.ouch  to  the  w^^^^^^  Ten« 
0  for  that  ancient  spirit  which  curbed  the  Senate  s  wilK 

0  for  the  tents  which  in  old  time  whitened  the  Sacred  tLU ! 

In  those  brave  days  our  fathers  stood  fimi  y,  side  by  side  ; 

They  faced  the  Mercian  fury  ;  they  tamed  the  Fabian  prme  ; 

They  drove  the  fiercest  Quinctius  an  outcast  for  h  from  Rome 

They  sent  the  haughtiest  Claudius  with  shivered  fasces  home. 

But  what  their  care  bequeathed  us,  our  madness  flung  away  . 

All  the  ripe  fruit  of  threescore  years  was  Wig^^ted  m  a  day. 

Exult,  ye  proud  Patricians!    The  hard-fought  fight  is  o ex. 

^strove  for  honors,  - 't  was  in  vain  :  for  freedom,  - 't  is  no  nora 

No  crier  to  the  polling  summons  the  eager  throng ; 

No  Tribune  breathes  the  word  of  might,  that  guards  the  weaK  fron« 

Our  veiTWts,  that  were  so  high  sink  down  beneath  your  will. 
Rrches,  and  lands,  and  power,  and  state -ye  have  them.~-k«ej 

them  still.  ,  , 

Still  keep  the  holy  fillets  ;  still  keep  the  purple  gown. 
The  axes  and  the  curule  chair,  the  car  and  laurel  crown 
Still  press  us  for  your  cohorts,  and,  when  the  fight  is  done, 
Stm  fin  your  garners  from  the  soil  which  our  good  swords  have  won. 
But  by  the  Shades  beneath  us,  and  by  the  Gods  above. 
Add  not  mito  your  cruel  hate  your  yet  more  cruel  love 
Have  ye  not  graceful  ladies,  whose  spotless  lineage  springs 
From  Consuls,  and  High  Pontiife,  and  ancient  Alban  kings? 
Then  lea-c  the  poor  Plebeian  his  single  tie  to  lile-- 
The  sweet,  sweet  love  of  daughter,  of  sister,  and  of  wite 

glntk  speech,  the  balm  for  aW  his  vexed  soul  endures. 
The  kiss,  in  which  he  half  forgets  even  such  a  yoke  as  yours. 
SHU  let  the  maiden's  beauty  swell  the  father's  bi^ast  w,th  pnd« 
Still  let  the  bridegroom's  arms  enfold  an  unpolluted  bride 


MARTIAL  ANP  POPULAR. — HEMiNS.  Hj 

Spare  il>  the  inexpiable  wrong,  the  unutterable  shame, 
lhat  turns  the  coward's  heart  to  steel,  the  sluggard^s  blood  to  flame 
Lest  when  our  latest  hope  is  fled,  ye  taste  of  otr  despair,  ' 
And  learn,  by  proof,  in  some  wild  hour,  how  much  the  wretched  dare 

13    THE  SPARTANS'  MARCH.-f.,^c^■a^.^«n..   Born,  m,;  aie^,  IBS, 

wMedtft^^xc^^^^^^^^^^  -ys  Thucydidos,  because  the, 

Bi<x«l  Of  flutes  a,id  soft  recorders  charg.ng-step  >vas  made  to  the  Doria^ 

T  WAS  morn  upon  the  Grecian  hills,  where  peasants  dressed  the  vine. 
SurJight  was  on  Cith^ron's  rills,  Arcadia's  rocks  and  pines. 
And  brightly  through  his  reeds  and  Hwer,,  Eurotas  wandered  by. 
^^hen  a  sound  arose  from  Sparta's  towers  of  solemn  harmony.  ^ 
\\  as  It  the  hunter's  choral  strain,  to  the  woodland-goddess  poured  ? 
Did  virgm  hands,  m  Pallas'  fane,  strike  the  full-sounding  chord  ?  ' 
But  hehns  were  glancing  on  the  stream,  spears  ranged  in  close  array 
And  shields  flung  back  a  glorious  beam  to  the  morn  of  a  fearS'ay 
And  the  mountam  echoes  of  the  land  swelled  through  the  deep-blue  sify 
;W  hile  io  soft  strains  moved  forth  a  band  of  men  that  moved  to  die 
Thj  marched  not  with  the  trumpet's  blast,  nor  bade  the  horn  peal  out 
And  the  laurel-groves,  as  on  they  passed,  rung  with  no  battle  shout ! 

l\7Z^^^     '^'T''  TT  ^^"^^        ""'^^     i^P^Jse  hicb 

And  still  .r^^'f'  "1^'^'  ^r*^"  '^-^  of  liberty ! 

And  still  sweet  flutes,  their  path  around,  sent  forth  ^olian  breath  • 
They  needed  not  a  sterner  sound  to  marshal  them  for  death  ' 
bo  moved  they  ca  mly  to  their  field,  thence  never  to  return  * 
bave  bringing  back  the  Spartan  shield,  or  on  it  proudly  borne  ' 

17.  THE  GREEKS'  RETURN  FROM  B ATTLE.  - /i^d. 

lo  !  they  come,  they  come  I  garlands  for  eveiy  shrine  ! 
Swn'  S  It  ^T-^'"^  ^'"^^  •  ^^^"S  roses,  pour  ye  wine  ! 

Sing  It  where  oliyes  wave,  and  by  the  glittering  sea, 

mfrvZ  T  '  ^'^^^  ^'^        is  free  ! 

HnJ^I  J  !  ^•'''''"g.        ^<'<^  the  spears  that  light  the  deep  ! 

vl    !lft     Tf^"f  P"''  tl^^  l^'ls  °f  battle  sweep  - 

B«h  hath  brought  back  his  shield  ;  -  maid,  greet  thy  lover  home  ' 
Mother,  W  that  proud  fieId,-Io !  thy  son  is  come !  ' 

Wlio  murmured  of  the  dead?    Hush,  boding  voice  !    We  know 
rhat  many  a  .hming  head  lies  in  its  glory  low 

™  '''~es  tOKlay !  They  shall  have  their  pn«  ere  lona 
Aci  1  nower  all  hearts  to  sway,  in  ever-burning  song  ^         ^ '™» 


12Q  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKE&. 

But  mm  shed  flowers,  pour  wine,  to  hail  the  conquerors  horm 
Bring  wreaths  for  every  shrine,  —  lo  !  they  come,  they  com* 

18,  ODE.  —  William  Collins.  Born.  1720  ,  diect,  1756. 

How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung  ; 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung ; 
There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay; 
And  Freedom  shall  a  while  repair, 
To  dwell,  a  weeping  hermit,  there. 


U     VmaiNIUS   AS  tribune,  refuses  the  appeal  OE  APPIUS  CLA-JDIIJB 
U     V in^i-iyLUi^  _  ^^.^.^^i  Puraphrase  from  Livy. 

1  AFFIRM,  0  Romans,  that  Appius  Claudius  is  the  only  rnan  not 
entitled  to  a  participation  in  the  laws,  nor  to  the  common  privileges  ol 
fvU  or  human  society.  The  tribunal  over  which,  as  perpetual  Decemvir 
he  presided,  was  made  the  fortress  of  all  viUames.    A  despiser  of  Go^ 
and\iien,  he  vented  his  fury  on  the  properties  and  persons  of  ci  izens, 
threateninc^  all  with  his  rods  and  axes.    Executioners,  not  Lictois, 
His  passions  roaming  from  rapm^ /o  ir^rd^^^ 
from  murder  to  lust,  he  tore  a  free-born  maiden  as      ^he  we^^  ^ 
prisoner  of  war,  from  the  embraces  of  me,  her  father  before  the 
^yes  of  the  Roman  People,  and  gave  her  to  his  creature,  the  purveyor 
of  his  secret  pleasures  !    Ye  heard,  my  countrymen,  the  cruel  decree, 
SrusLision.    Ye  beheld  the       t^-^.^f  the  fatW  armed 
against  his  daughter.    Armed  against,  do  I  say  ?    No  bj 
aLed  in  her  hehalf^^^.n^.  it  was  to  rescue  ^^^^^^ 
honor,  tliat  I  sheathed  in  her  mnocent  bosom  the  knife  !  heara 
the  tyrant,  when  the  uncle  and  the  betrothed  hiisband  of  Virginia 
rlJZ  ifeless  body,  order  them  to  be  taken  off  to  prison  Yes 
Eans  even  at  tha^ragical  moment,  the  miscreant  Claud^^^^ 
more  moved  by  the  disappointment  of  his  gross  sensual  appetite  than 
by  the  untimely  death  of  the  unoffending  victim  ! 
^  And  Appius  Claudius  now  appeals  !    You  hear  his  word.  1 
ftnneal '  "    This  man,  who,  so  recently,  as  Decemvir,  would  have  con- 
a  free-born  maiden  to  bonds  and  to  dishonor,  utters  tliat  sacred 
'expression  that  safeguard  of  Roman  liberty,  ^  "  I  appc.  !        c  may 
ve  stand  awc-struck  and  silent,  0  my  countrymen!  see,  at 

fength  that  there  are  Gods  who  overlook  human  affairs  ;  that  there  i 
iuch  a  thias;  as  retribution  !    Ye  see  that  punishment  must  soonei 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  LITY.  22] 

a!^  fin  II    !.      ^  '  protection  of  the  People" 

And  finally,  the  man  who  used  to  call  the  prison  the  fitting  domicUe  of 
^e  Koman  commons  shall  now  find  that  it  was  built  for  S  also 
Wherefore,  Appius  Claudius,  though  thou  shouldst  appeal  Sn Tnj 
agam  to  me  the  Tribune  of  the  People,  I  will  as  ofterrefef thee  "o 

itfiLZ   "  "t'^'  °^  ^  froe  person  to  slavery 

And  mnce  thou  wilt  not  go  before  a  Judge,  well  knowing  that  S 

p^r^rtdrmS"' ' 

20.  CANULEIUS  AGAINST  PATRICIAN  ARROGANCE 
Original  Parapiirase  from  Livy. 

d.3!JV'  ^  tl^^t  Patridan  arrogance  h,« 

denied  to  us  the  rights  of  a  common  humanity.  What  do  we  new 
demand  ?  F.rst,  the  right  of  intermarriage ;  and  then,  thL  the  People 
may  confer  honors  on  whom  they  please.^  And  why,  h,  the  Lme  of 

reiused  <  Why,  tor  claiming  them,  was  I  near  being  assaulted  iu,t 
now,  m  the  senat«.house  ?    Will  the  city  no  longer  sLid  -  wffl  C 

rercluldto™';r'r",T?  t™J''="  «h;il  no  longe 

and  bv  f  '  Gonsulsliip?  Truly  these  Patricians  will,  by 
and  by,  begrudge  us  a  participation  in  the  light  of  day ;  they  w  Z 

StTof  t  =        ™  share^withThem  the 

tafiulty  of  speech  ;  that  we  wear  the  forms  of  human  beings  '  But  T 
cry  them  mercy.  They  tell  „s  it  is  contrary  to  religion  ?hat  a  P I 
i"tr^rt2,°i1 '    'T'^^  ^-P'ig-  g/wforMs" 

tL„T'  I  7 1.  ?     7'"  ^''y  this  pretence  to  the  facts  ' 

pS  '"^  *"  ™^  to  the  commentaries  of  the 

f^t  of  t^e  wn  ^°'"^?r™•^  ""^i^"^.  in  ~n  with  he 
rest  of  the  world,  we  well  know.  We  know  that  there  were  Kinc.» 
before  thei^  were  Consuls  in  Rome.  We  know  that  Consuk  pS; 
no  prerogative,  no  digmty,  not  formerly  inherent  in  Kings  We^kr' 

lofa  PrriVifTf"/''  "'"''^  "Ot  oZ 

not  a  Patrician,  but  not  even  a  citizen  ;  that  Lucius  Tarquinius  who 
wa^  not  even  of  Italian  extraction,  was  made  King;  tha  SeV^^ 

u.^  Tn'Vo       '"'^e''-  '""^  State  are  withheld  from 

7  u\f  intermarriage  of  members  of  their  order  with  Plebeian 

^an  thlrvvh"  "T,  '^t'^  '■^^'Snity,  a  more  humiliating t  7t 
l>an  this  ?    \\h,  not  legislate  against  our  living  in  the  .same  neigb 


I '22  THiii  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

Mrhood,  dwelling  under  the  same  skies,  walking  the  same  sartht 
Ifrnominy  not  to  be  endured !  Was  it  for  this  we  expelled  Kmgs 
Was  it  for  this  that  we  exchanged  one  master  for  many  ?  .^o . 
Let  the  rights  we  claim  be  admitted,  or  let  the  Patricians  fight  the 
battles  of  the  State  themselves.  Let  the  public  offices  be  open  txi 
all  •  let  every  invidious  law  in  regard  to  marriage  be  abolished  ;^  or, 
oy  the  Gods  of  our  fathers,  let  there  be  no  levy  of  troops  to  achieve 
victories,  in  the  benefits  of  which  the  People  shall  not  most  anipiy 
and  equally  partake ! 

I)    CATILINE  TO  HIS  ARMY,  NEAR  F^SUK*:.— Ben  Jonson.   Born,  1574  5  died  l«3l 
A  paraphrase  of  the  celebrated  speech  which  Sallust  attributes  to  Catiline,  previous  toth* 
5J;g?.gemem  which  euded  in  the  rout  of  his  army,  and  his  own  death. 

I  NEVER  yet  knew.  Soldiers,  that  in  fight 

Words  added  virtue  unto  valiant  men  ; 

Or  that  a  General's  oration  made 

An  army  fall  or  stand :  but  how  much  prowess, 

Habitual  or  natural,  each  man's  breast 

Was  owner  of,  so  much  in  act  it  showed.^ 

Whom  neither  glory  nor  danger  can  excite, 

'T  is  vain  to  attempt  with  speech. 

Two  armies  wait  us,  Soldiers ;  one  from  Rome 

The  other  fror  the  provinces  of  Gaul. 

The  sword  must  now  direct  and  cut  our  passage. 

I  only,  therefore,  wish  you,  when  you  strike, 

To  have  your  valors  and  your  souls  about  you  ; 

And  think  you  carry  in  your  laboring  hands 

The  things  you  seek,—  glory  and  liberty  ! 

For  by  your  swords  the  Fates  must  be  instructed ! 

If  we  can  give  the  blow,  all  will  be  safe  ; 
We  shall  not  want  provision,  nor  supplies ; 

The  colonies  and  free  towns  will  lie  open  ; 
Where,  if  we  yield  to  fear,  expect  no  place, 
Nor  friend,  to  shelter  those  whom  their  own  fortune 
And  ill-used  arms  have  left  without  protection. 

You  might  have  lived  in  servitude  or  exile, 
Or  safe  at  Home,  depending  on  the  great. 
But  that  you  thought  those  things  unfit  for  men ; 
And,  in  that  thought,  my  friends,  you  then  were  variant . 
F)r  no  man  ever  yet  changed  peace  for  war 
But  he  that  meant  to  conquer.    Ilold  that  purpose. 
Meet  the  opposing  army  in  that  spirit. 
There 's  more  necessity  you  should  be  such. 
In  fighting  for  yourselves,  than  they  for  others. 
He 's  base  who  trusts  his  feet,  whose  hands  are  arm«t 

Mcthinks  I  see  Death  and  the  Furies  waiting 
What  we  will  do,  and  all  the  Heaven  at  leisure 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR. 


123 


B'or  the  great  spectacle.    Praw,  then,  jour  sworda , 
And,  should  our  destiny  begrudge  our  virtue 
The  honor  of  the  day,  let  us  take  care 
To  sell  ourselves  at  such  a  price  as  ma^ 
Undo  the  world  to  buy  us  ! 


22.     SPARTACUS  TO  THE  GLADIATORS  AT  CAPUA  -  E.  Kellogg. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.    Lentulus,  returning  vitli 
Tnctorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace  with  the  sports  of  the 
amphitheatre  to  an  extent  hitherto  unknown  even  in  that  luxurious 
city.    Ihe  shouts  of  revelry  had  died  away  ;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had 
ceased  ;  the  last  loiterer  had  retired  from  the  banquet ;  and  the  lights 
m  the  palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished.    The  moon,  piercin  Ahe 
tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dew-drops  on  the  corslet  of  the 
Roman  sentinel,  and  tipped  the  dark  waters  of  the  Vulturnus  with  a 
wavy,  tremulous  light.  No  sound  was  heard,  save  the  last  sob  of  some 
retiring  wave,  telling  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach  • 
and  then  all  was  still  as  the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  departed  In 
the  deep  recesses  of  the  amphitheatre,  a  band  of  gladiators  were  assem- 
bled;  their  muscies  still  knotted  with  the  agonv  of  conflict,  the  foam 
upon  their  lips,  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  lingering  on  their  brows:  when 
bpartacus,  starting  forth  from  amid  the  throng,  thus  addressed  them  : 
Ye  call  me  chief;  and  ye  do  well  to  call  Mm  chief  who  for 
twelve  ong  years,  has  met  upon  the  are'na  every  shape  of  man  or 
beast  the  broad  empire  of  Rome  could  furnish,  and  who  never  vet 
lowered  his  arm.    If  there  be  one  among  you  who  can  say,  that  ever, 
m  public  fight  or  private  brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tK)no-ue,  let 
him  stand  forth,  and  say  it.    If  there  be  three  in  all  your  company 
dare  face  me  on  the  bloody  sands,  let  them  come  on.    And  yet  I  wa^ 
not  always  thus,  —  a  hired  butcher,  a  savage  chief  of  still  more  sav- 
age  men!    My  ancestors  came  from  old  Sparta,  and  settled  amonc. 
.he  vme-clad  rocks  and  citron  groves  of  Syrasella.    My  early  life  ran 
quiet  as  the  brooks  by  which  I  sported ;  and  when,  at  noon,  I  gath- 
ered the  sheep  beneath  the  shade,  and  played  upon  the  shepherd's 
flute,  there  was  a  friend,  the  son  of  a  neighbor,  to  join  me  in  the 
pastime     We  led  our  flocks  to  the  same  pasture,  and  partook  together 
our  rustic  mea      One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and  we 
were  all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  which  shaded  our  cottage  mv 
grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Marathon,  and  Leuctra  ;'and 
how,  m  ancient  times,  a  little  band  of  Spartans,  in  a  defile  cf  the 
mcuntams,  had  withstood  a  whole  army.    I  did  not  then  know  whai 
war  was  ;  but  my  cheeks  burned,  I  knew  not  why,  and  I  clasped  the 
knees  of  that  venerable  man,  until  my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from 
off  my  forehead,  kissed  my  throbbing  temples,  and  bade  me  go  to  rest, 
and  think  no  more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage  wars.    That  very 
night,  the  Romans  landed  on  our  coast.    I  saw  the  breast  that  had 
nounshed  nie  trampled  by  the  hoof  of  the  war-horse;  the  bleedin^ 
body  0.  mv  father  flung  amidst  the  blazing  rafters  of  our  (Veiling  •  " 


i24  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

"  To»day  I  killed  a  man  in  tlie  arena  ;  and,  when  I  broke  his  h6k 
met-clasps,  behold  !  he  was  my  friend.    He  knew  me,  smiled  faintly 
gasped,  and  died ;  —  the  same  sweet  smile  upon  his  lips  that   .  had 
marked,  when,  in  adventurous  boyhood,  we  scaled  the  lotty  chh  to 
pluck  the  first  ripe  grapes,  and  bear  them  home  in  childish  triumph  . 
I  told  the;prsetor  that  the  dead  man  had  been  my  friend,  generous  and 
brave ;  and  I  begged  that  I  might  bear  away  the  body,  to  burn  it 
on  a  funeral  pile,  and  mourn  over  its  ashes.    Ay  !  upon  my  knees, 
amid  the  dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  I  begged  that  poor  boon,  while  all 
the  assembled  maids  and  matrons,  and  the  holy  virgms  they  call  \  es. 
tals,  and  the  rabble,  shouted  in  derision,  deeming  it  rare  spojt  forsooth, 
to  see  Kome's  fiercest  gladiator  turn  pale  and  tremble  at  sight  ot  that 
piece  of  bleeding  clay  !    And  the  praetor  drew  back  as  I  were  pollu- 
tion,and  sternly  said, —  ' Let  the  carrion  rot;  there  are  no  noble 
men  but  Romans  !'  And  so,  Mhw-gladiators,  must  you,  and  so  must 
£  die  like  do^s.    0,  Rome  !  Rome  !  thou  hast  been  a  tender  nurse 
ti  me.    Ay  !°thou  hast  given,  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid  shepherd 
lad,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone  than  a  flute-note,  muscles  oi  iron 
and  a  heart  of  flint ;  taught  him  to  drive  the  sword  through  plaited 
mail  and  links  of  rugged  brass,  and  warm  it  in  the  marrow  ot  his  ioe  ;. 
—  to  ffaze  into  the  glaring  eye-balls  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion,  even 
as  a  boy  upon  a  laughing  girl!  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back,  until  the 
yellow  Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  ooze  thy  lite- 
blood  lies  curdled !  ,       ^^  n 

"  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are  !  The  strength  of  brass 
is  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-morrow  some  Roman  Adonis, 
breathinLr  sweet  perfume  from  his  curly  locks,  shall  with  his  lily 
fino-ers  pat  your  red  brawn,  and  bet  his  sesterces  upon  your  blood. 
Ha'J-k  '  hear  ye  yon  lion' roaring, in  his  den  ?  'Tis  three  days  since  he 
tasted  flesh  ;  but  to-morrow  he  shaU  break  his  fast  upon  yours,  —  and 
a  dainty  meal  for  him  ye  will  be  !  jjlf  ye  are  beasts,  then  stand  here 
like  fat  oxen,  waiting  for  the  butcher's  knife !  If  ye  are  men.  —  M^ 
low  me !  Strike  down  yon  guard,  gain  the  mountain  passes,  and  there 
do  bloody  work,  as  did  your  sires  at  Old  Thermopylae  !  Is  Sparta  dead  # 
Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins,  that  you  do  crouch 
and  cower  like  a  belabored  hound  beneath  his  master's  lash  O,  com- 
Hides  '  warriors  !  Thracians  !  —  if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  tor  our- 
nelves  '  If  we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors!  it 
we  must  die,  let"^e  under  the  clear  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  m 
uobb,  honorable  battle  ! "  ' 

23.  SPARTACUS  TO  THE  ROMAN  ENVOYS  IN  ETRDRIA.— Orig-ina 

Envoys  of  Rome,  the  poor  camp  of  Spartacus  is  too  much  honoreO 
.n  your  presence.    And  does  Rome  stoop  to  parley  with  the  escape.! 
"rladiator,  with  the  rebel  ruffian,  for  whom  heretofore  no  slight 
Boon  too  scornful  ?    You  have  come,  with  steel  in  your  right  hand, 
ind  with  gold  in  your  left.    What  heed  we  give  the  former,  ask 


MARTIAL   .ND  POPULAfl.  I2fe 

Cossimus  ask  Clauaius  ;  ask  Varinms  ;  ask  the  bones  of  your  legiona 
that  fertilize  the  Lucanian  plains.    And  for  your  gold  —  would  ye 
kDcw  what  we  do  with  that,  — go  ask  the  laborer,  the  trodden  poor 
the  helpless  and  the  hopeless,  on  our  route ;  ask  all  whom  Eoman 
tyranny  had  crushed,  or  Roman  avarice  plundered.     Ye  have  seen 
me  before  :  but  ye  did  not  then  shun  my  glance  as  now.     Ye  have 
seen  me  in  the  arena,  when  I  was  Rome's  pet  ruffian,  daily  smeared 
with  blood  of  men  or  beasts.     One  day  — shall  I  forget  it  ever  ?  — 
were  present ;  —  I  had  fought  long  and  well.    Exhausted  as  I  was 
your  munerdtor,  your  lord  of  the  games,  bethought  him,  it  were  an 
equal  match  to  set  against  me  a  new  man,  younger  and  lighter  than 
I,  but  fresh  and  valiant.    With  Thracian  sword  and  buckler,  forth  he 
came,  a  beautiful  defiance  on  his  brow  !    Bloody  and  brief  the  fight 
"He  has  It!"  cried  the  People;  ^Wmbet  /  hahei        But  still  he 
lowered  not  his  arm,  until,  at  length,  I  held  him,  gashed  and  taintinn-, 
m  my  power. ,    I  looked  around  upon  the  Podium,  where  feat  yoiTr 
Senators  and  men  of  State,  to  catch  the  signal  of  release,  of  mercy. 
But  not  a  thumb  was  reversed.    To  crown  your  sport,  the  vanquished 
man  must  die  !    Obedient  brute  that  I  was,  I  was  about  to  slay  him, 
when  a  few  hurried  words  — rather  a  welcome  to  death  than  a  plea 
for  lite  — told  me  he  was  a  Thracian.     I  stood  transfixed.  The 
arena  vanished.    I  was  in  Thrace,  upon  my  native  hills !    The  sword 
dropped  from  my  haPxds.     I  raised  the  dying  youth  tenderly  in  my 
arms     0,  the  magnanimity  of  Rome  !     Your  haughty  leaders,  en- 
raged at  being  cheated  of  their  death-show,  hissed^their  disappoint- 
ment, and  shouted,  "Kill!  "     I  heeded  them  as  I  would  heed  the 
howl  of  wolves.    Kill  — They  might  better  have  asked  the 

mother  to  kill  the  babe, -smiling  in  her  face.    Ah!  he  was  already 
wounded  unto  death  ;  and,  amid  the  angry  yells  of  the  spectators,  he, 
ai,  ^  ™  scourged  for  disobedience.   I  shall  not  forget 

It.    Should  memory  fail,  there  are  scars  here  to  quicken  it. 

Well;  do  not  grow  impatient.  Some  hours  after,  finding  myself 
with  seventy  fellow-gladiators,  alone  in  the  amphitheatre,  the  laborma 
thought  broke  forth  in  words.  I  said,  —  I  know  not  what.  I  only 
know  that,  when  I  ceased,  my  comrades  looked  each  other  m  the 
tace  — and  then  burst  forth  the  simultaneous  cry— "Lead  on'  lead 
on,  0  Spartacus !  "  Forth  we  rushed,  —  seized  what  rude  weapons 
enhance  threw  m  our  way,  and  to  the  mountains  speeded.  There 
day  by  day,  our  little  band  increased.  Disdainful  Rome  sent  after  us 
a  handful  of  her  troops,  with  a  scourge  for  the  slave  Spartacus. 
Iheir  weapons  soon  were  ours.  She  sent  an  army ;  and  down  from 
Old  Vesuvius  we  poured,  and  slew  three  thousand.  Now  it  was  Spar- 
tacus the  dreaded  rebel !  A  larger  army,  headed  by  the  Praetor,  was 
sent,  and  routed  ;  then  another  still.  And  always  I  remembered  thaV, 
tierce  cry,  riving  my  heart,  and  calling  me  to  "  kill !  »  In  three 
patched  battles,  have  I  not  obeyed  it  ?    And  now  afi-righted  Rome 


128 


THE  STANDAB^^  SPEAKER 


Bends  her  two  Consuls,  and  puts  forth  all  her  strength  bj  ^and  and  sea 
as  if  a  Pjrrnus  or  a  Hannibal  were  on  her  borders ! 

Envoys  of  Rome !  To  Lentulus  and  Gellius  bear  this  message : 
'*  Their  graves  are  measured !  "  Look  on  that  narrow  stream,  a  siivei 
thread,  high  on  the  mountain's  side !  Slenderly  it  winds,  but  soon  is 
swelled  by  others  meeting  it,  until  a  torrent,  teirible  and  ^strong,  it 
sweeps  to'  the  abyss,  where  all  is  ruin.  So  Spartacus  comes  on  !  Bo 
swells  his  force,  —  small  and  despised  at  first,  but  now  resistless  I 
On,  on  to  Rome  we  come  !  The  gladiators  come !  Let  Opulence 
iremble  in  all  his  palaces  !  Let  Oppression  shudder  to  think  the 
oppressed  may  have  their  turn  !  Let  Cruelty  turn  pale  at  thought  of 
redder  hands  than  his !  0 !  we  shall  not  forget  Rome's  many  les- 
sons.  She  shall  not  find  her  training  was  all  wasted  upon  indocile 
pupik.    Now,  begone  !    Prepare  the  Eternal  City  for  our  games ' 


24.  MARULLTJS  TO  THE  ROMAN  POPtfLACE.— 5/taA:s;?eare., 

Wherefore  rejoice  that  Caesar  ccmes  in  triumph  ? 
What  conquest  brings  he  home  ? 
What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 
To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot- wheels  ? 
You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things ' 
0,  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome  ! 
Knew  ye  not  Pompey  ?    Many  a  time  and  oft 
Have  you  climbed  up  to  walk  and  battlements, 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 
Your  infants  in  your  arras,  and  there  have  sat 
The  life-long  day,  with  patient  expectation, 
To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome ; 
And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout, 
That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  her  banks 
To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds, 
Made  in  her  concave  shores  ? 
And  do  you  7iow  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday  ? 
And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 
That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood  ? 
Begone  !    Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees 
Pray  to  the  Gods  to  intermit  the  plague 
That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude ! 


i5.  MARCUS  BRUTUS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  C2ES>hB..—Shakspeart. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !  Hear  me  for  my  cause  ;  and  bt 
nlent,  that  you  may  hear.  Believe  me  for  mine  honor;  and  bavi9 
respect  to  mine  honor,  that  you  may  believe.  Censure  me  in  youi 
Tisdoni    and  a\^'ake  youi-  senses,  that  you  may  the  better  judger  If 


MARTLiI,  AKh  POPULAR.  —  SHAKSPEARIS.  (27 

strth^aVZh  *M  ^rn^'-^">'^^-rfnend  of  Caesar's.,  to  Mm  1 
say,  that  Bmtus  love  to  Caesar  was  not  less  than  his.    If  then  that 

rill  r  ^""v^'  I  l^^e^  i^ome  more.    Had  yon 

rather  Caesar  were  hvinxr,  and  die  all  skvp^  fK^n  +1,0 I  n 

dead,  to  live  al,  freemen!'  As  c4r  lotneX^yrhi^^'H 
he  was  fortuBate,  I  rejo  ce  at  it;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  hiT 
^  he  w<«  an>b.t.ous,  I  slew  him.    There  are  tears  for  Us  We  •  ic^ 

Whot  hre^so^'basHLt'"  M  T'^'I  -bi'tS 
»yno  IS  nere  m  base,  that  would  be  a  bondman  ?    If  any  sneak  ■  frr 

^m^T  .^^^"i?  'l.l^-^  -  that  ZVC  be  ; 

woman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so 
VTle  that  will  not  love  his  country  ?  If  any  sneak  •  for  hil  T,  r 
offended.    I  pause  for  a  reply  ^'  ^    '   "  ^"^  ^ 

r^L^  -  was 

Ct-ZaTrff  ^-^h-n  not?    iA^tll  thtl 

aepart .  ihat,  as  I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good  of  Rome  I  havs 

S  ^^^^^  pi--  --t;7to 

26  MARK  ANTONY  TO  THE  PEOPLE.  ON  CESAR'S  DEATH. -5.a.«^«,^ 

Friends  Romans,  Countrymen!  lend  me  your  care 

I  come  to  bury  C^sar,  not  to  praise  him. 

Ihe  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  : 

bo  let  It  be  with  Caesar  !    Noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you  Caesar  was  ambitious  : 

If  It  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault  ; 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it ' 

Here  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest  ~ 
i^or  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man  ! 
So  are  they  all  !  all  honorable  men,— 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me.— 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man  ! 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome. 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill: 

Old  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

Wlien  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept 

^mbition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff ' 

Vet  Brutus  mys  he  was  ambitious  . 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


And  Brzitus  is  an  honorable  man ! 

You  all  did  see,  that,  on  the  Lupercal, 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse :  was  this  amHtion  ?— 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man ! 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke ; 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once  ;  not  without  cause  : 

What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him  I 

0  judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason !    Bear  with  me : 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar ; 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me.  — 

But  yesterday,  th^  word  of  Caesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world ;  —  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence ! 

0  masters !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men  !  — 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong :  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you. 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men !  — 
But  here 's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Caesar,  — 
I  foand  it  in  his  closet,  —  't  is  his  will ! 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament,  — 
Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,  — 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  woun(2s 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood  ; 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 
Unto  their  issue ! 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  : 
'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent,- 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii !  — 
Look!  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through t 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made !  — 
Through  this,  —  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it ! 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no  I 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  MILTON. 


129 


Judge,  0  ye  Gods,  how  dearly  Caosar  loved  him! 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ! 

tor  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him.    Then  burst  his  mighty  heart 

And,  in  his  mantle  nmffling  up  his  face 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue,  ~ 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood !  —  great  Csesar  fell  > 

0,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen ! 

Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us,  fell  down ; 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us ! 

0,  now  you  weep  ;  and  I  perceive  you  feel 

The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops  ! 

Kind  souls  !  what !  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 

Our  Ciesar's  vesture  wounded  ?  —  look  you  here  ! 

Here  is  himself,  —  marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors  !  

Good  friends  !  sweet  friends !  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny ! 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable ! 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas  !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it :  they  are  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man, 
That  love  my  friend,  —  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him,  — 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth. 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood  :  I  only  speak  right  on. 
I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know  ; 
Show  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds, — poor,  poor,  dumb  roo^itia 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me.    But,  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  rufile  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Caesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Borne  to  rise  and  mutiny  ! 


27.    MOLOCH  TO  THE  FALLEN  ANGELS  —Milton. 

My  sentence  is  for  open  war  :  of  wiles, 
More  unexpert,  I  boast  not :  them  let  those 
Contrive  who  need,  or  when  they  need ;  not  now. 
For,  while  they  sit  contriving,  shall  the  rest, 
Millions  that  stand  in  arms,  and  longing  wait 
The  signal  to  ascend,  sit  lingering  here 
Heaven's  fugitives,  and  for  their  dwelling-plaoe 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Accept  this  dark  opprobrious  den  of  shame, 

I'he  prison  of  His  tyranny  who  reigns 

By  our  delay  ?    No,  —  let  us  rather  choose, 

Ai-nied  with  hell-flames  and  fury,  all  at  once 

O'er  Heaven's  high  towers  to  force  resistless  way> 

Turning  our  tortures  into  horrid  arms 

Against  the  Torturer ;  when  to  meet  the  noise 

Of  His  almighty  engine  He  shall  hear 

Infernal  thunder ;  and,  for  lightning,  see 

Black  fire  and  horror  shot  with  equal  rage^ 

Among  His  angels  ;  and  His  Throne  itself 

Mixed  with  Tartarean  sulphur  and  strange  fire, 

His  own  invented  torments.    But  perhaps 

The  way  seems  difficult  and  steep,  to  scale 

With  upright  wing  against  a  higher  foe. 

Let  such  bethink  them,  if  the  sleepy  drench 

Of  that  forgetful  lake  benumb  not  still, 

That  in  our  proper  motion  we  ascend 

Up  to  our  native  seat :  descent  and  fall 

To  us  is  adverse.    Who  but  felt  of  late, 

When  the  fierce  Foe  hung  on  our  broken  rear 

Insulting,  and  pursued  us  through  the  deep, 

With  what  compulsion  and  laborious  flight 

V/e  sank  thus  low  ?    The  ascent  is  easy,  then :  — 

The  event  is  feared :  —  should  we  again  provoke 

Our  Stronger,  some  worse  way  His  wrath  may  find 

To  our  destruction ;  if  there  be  in  hell 

Fear  to  be  worse  destroyed.  —  What  can  be  worse 

Than  to  dwell  here,  driven  out  from  bliss,  condemned. 

In  this  abhorred  deep,  to  utter  woe, 

V/here  pain  of  unextinguishable  fire 

Must  exercise  us  without  hope  of  end. 

The  vassals  of  His  anger,  when  the  scourge 

Inexorable  and  the  torturing  hour 

Call  us  to  penance  ?    More  destroyed  than  thus, 

We  should  be  quite  abolished,  and  expire. 

What  fear  we,  then  ?    What  doubt  we  to  incense 

His  utmost  ire  ?  which,  to  the  height  enraged, 

Will  either  quite  consume  us,  and  reduce 

To  nothing  this  essential,  —  happier  far, 

Than  miserable  to  have  eternal  being;  — 

Or,  if  our  substance  be  indeed  divine, 

And  cannot  cease  to  be,  we  are  at  worst, 

On  this  side  nothing :  and  by  proof  we  fee. 

Our  power  sufficient  to  disturb  His  Heaven. 

And  with  perpetual  inroads  to  alarm. 

Though  inaccessible,  His  fatal  Throne : 

Which,  if  not  victory  is  yet  revenge 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  MILTON. 

28.    BELIAL'S  ADDRESS,  OPPOSING  W AH. -Milton 

I  SHOULD  be  much  for  open  war,  0  Peers, 
As  not  behind  in  hate,  if  what  was  urged, 
Main  reason  to  persuade  immediate  war. 
Did  not  dissuade  me  most,  and  seem  to  cast 
Ominous  conjecture  on  the  whole  success ;  — 
When  he,  who  most  excels  in  fact  of  arms, 
In^  what  he  counsels,  and  in  what  excels. 
Mistrustful,  grounds  his  courage  on  despair 
And  utter  dissolution,  as  the  scope 

Of  all  his  aim,  after  some  dire  reveno-e  '  

First,  what  revenge  ?  — The  towers  of  Heaven  are 
With  armed  watch,  that  render  all  access 
Impregnable  :  oft  on  the  bordering  deep 
Lncamp  their  legions  :  or,  with  obscure  win^, 
bcout  far  and  wide  into  the  realm  of  nieht, 
bcornmg  surprise.  -  Or,  could  we  break  our  way 
i3y  force,  and,  at  our  heels,  all  hell  should  rise. 
With  blackest  insurrection,  to  confoun'd 
Heaven's  purest  light;  yet  our  great  Enemy, 
All  incorruptible,  would,  on  His  throne, 
^it  unpolluted ;  and  the  ethereal  mould, 
^capable  of  stain,  would  soon  expel 
Her  mischief,  and  purge  off  the  baser  fire, 
Victorious.    Thus  repulsed,  our  final  hope 
Is  fiat  despair:  we  must  exasperate 
Ihe  Almighty  Victor  to  spend  all  His  rage, 
And  that  must  end  us ;  that  must  be  our  cure,  — 

Ihough  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  bein^, 

Ibose  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity  —  - 

lo  perish  rather,  swallowed  up  and  lost 

In  the  wide  womb  of  uncreated  night 

Devoid  of  sense  and  motion?  — And  who  knows, 

lict  this  be  good,  whether  our  angry  Foe 

Cap  give  it,  or  will  ever  ?    How  He  can. 

Is  H^jubtful ;  that  He  never  will,  is  sure. 

Will  He  so  wise,  let  loose  at  once  His  ire 

^ehke  through  impotence,  or  unaware, 

lo  give  His  enemies  their  wish,  and  end 

Ihem  in  His  anger,  whom  His  anger  savas 

To  punish  endless  ?  _   Wherefore  cease  we,  then  ? 

bay  they,  who  counsel  war :  "  we  are  decreed. 

Keserved,  and  destined  to  eternal  woe : 

Whatever  doing,  what  can  we  suffer  more. 

What  can  wt  .uffer  worse  ?  "    Is  this,  then,  worst. 

rbus  sitting,  thus  consulting,  thus  in  arms  « 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


W  hat    when  we  fled  amaiij,  pur&ued  and  struck 
With  Heaven's  afflicting  thunder,  and  besought 
The  deep  to  shelter  us  ?  this  hell  then  seemed 
A  refuge  from  those  wounds !  or  when  we  lay 
Chained  on  the  burning  lake  ?  that  sure  was  worse. 
What  if  the  breath  that  kindled  those  grim  fires, 
Awaked,  should  blow  them  into  seven-fold  rage, 
And  plunge  us  in  the  flames  ?  or,  from  above. 
Should  intermitted  vengeance  arm  again 
His  red  right  hand  to  plague  us  ?  what,  if  all 
Her  stores  were  opened,  and  this  firmament 
Of  hell  should  spout  her  cataracts  of  fii-8, 
Impendent  horrors,  threatening  hideous  fall 
One  day  upon  our  heads  ?  while  we,  perhaps 
Designing  or  exhorting  glorious  war, 
Caught  in  a  fiery  tempest,  shall  be  hurled, 
Each  on  his  rock  transfixed,  the  sport  and  prey 
Of  racking  whirlwinds ;  or  forever  sunk  ^ 
Under  yon  boiling  ocean,  wrapped  in  chains ; 
There  to  converse  with  everlasting  groans, 
XJnrespited,  unpitied,  unreprieved, 
Ages  of  hopeless  end  ?  —  this  would  be  worse. 
War,  therefore,  open  or  concealed,  alike 
My  voice  dissuades. 


29.  THE  DEATH  OE  LEONID  AS.  —  Bfeu.  George  Croljf. 

It  was  the  wild  midnight,  —  a  storm  was  in  the  sky, 

The  lightning  gave  its  light,  and  the  thunder  echoed  by ; 

The  torrent  swept  the  glen,  the  ocean  lashed  the  shore, — 

Then  rose  the  Spartan  men,  to  make  their  bed  in  gore  ! 

Swift  from  the  deluged  ground,  three  hundred  took  the  shield 

Then,  silent,  gathered  round  the  leader  of  the  field. 

He  spoke  no  warrior-word,  he  bade  no  trumpet  blow ; 

But  the  signal  thunder  roared,  and  they  rushed  upon  the  foe. 

The  fiery  element,  showed,  with  one  mighty  gleam, 

Bampart  and  flag  and  tent,  like  the  spectres  of  a  dream. 

All  up  the  mountain  side,  all  down  the  woody  vale, 

AL  by  the  rolling  tide,  waved  the  Persian  banners  pale. 

And  King  Leonidas,  among  the  slumbering  band, 

Sprang  foremost  from  the  pass,  like  the  lightning's  living  brand 

Then  double  darkness  fell,  and  the  forest  ceased  to  moan. 

But  Ihere  came  a  clash  of  steel,  and  a  distant  dying  groan. 

Anon,  a  trum])et  blew,  and  a  fiery  sheet  burst  high, 

That  o'or  the  midnight  threw  a  blood-red  canopy. 

A  host  glared  on  the  hill ;  a  host  glared  by  the  bay ; 

But  the  Greeks  rushed  onward  stilJ  like  leopards  in  theii  plai 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR. — CROLT.  Igg 

The  air  wns  aU  a  yell,  and  the  earth  was  all  a  flame, 
Where  the  Spartan's  bloody  steel  on  the  silken  turbans  came 
And  still  the  Greek  rushed  on,  beneath  the  fiery  fold, 
Till,  like  a  rising  sun,  shone  Xerxes'  tent  of  gold 

rhey  found  a  royal  feast,  his  midnight  banquet,  there ! 
And  the  treasures  of  the  East  lay  beneath  the  Doric  spear 
ihen  sat  to  the  repast  the  bravest  of  the  brave  ' 
That  feast  must  be  their  last,  that  spot  must  be  their  grave 
They  pledged  old  Sparta's  name  in  cups  of  Syrian  wine, 
And  the  warrior's  deathless  fame  was  sung  in  strains  divine, 
ihey  took  the  rose-wreathed  lyres  from  eunuch  and  from  slave. 
And  taught  the  languid  wires  the  sounds  that  Freedom  gave. 

now  the  morning  star  crowned  (Eta's  twilight  brow. 
And  the  Persian  horn  of  war  from  the  hill  began  to  blow  • 
Up  rose  the  glorious  rank,  to  Greece  one  cup  poured  high. 
Then,  hand  m  hand,  they  drank,  —  "  To  Immortality  ! '' 
Fear  on  King  Xerxes  fell,  when,  like  spirits  from  the  tomb, 
With  shout  and  trumpet-knell,  he  saw  the  warriors  come ; 
l^ut  down  swept  aU  his  power,  with  chariot  and  with  charge: 
Down  poured  the  arrowy  shower,  till  sank  the  Dorian  targe. 
They  marched  within  the  tent,  with  all  their  strength  unstrung: 
lo  Greece  one  look  they  sent,  then  on  high  their  torches  flumr : 
lo  Heaven  the  blaze  uprolled,  like  a  mighty  altar-fire ; 
And  the  Persians'  gems  and  gold  were  the  Grecians'  funeral  pyra 
Their  King  sat  on  his  Throne,'his  Captains  by  his  side, 
While  the  flame  rushed  roaring  on,  and  their  psean  loud  replied  ! 
Thus  fought  the  Greek  of  old  !    Thus  will  he  fight  again ! 
bhalJ  not  the  self-same  mould  bring  forth  the  self-same  men  ? 


18     CATILINE  TO  THE  GALLIC  CONSPIRATORS. -Original  Adaptatton  f  om  Cr,l^ 

Men  of  Gaul ! 

What  would  you  give  for  Freedom  ?  

For  Freedom,  if  it  stood  before  your  eyes ; 
For  Freedom,  if  it  rushed  to  your  embrace  ; 
For  Freedom,  if  its  sword  were  ready  drawn 
To  hew  your  chains  off"  2 

Ye  would  give  death  or  life  !    Then  marvel  not 

lhat  I  am  here  —  that  Catiline  would  join  you!  — 

The  great  Patrician  ?  —  Yes  —  an  hour  ago  — 

But  now  the  rebel ;  Rome's  eternal  foe. 

And  your  sworn  friend  !  My  desperate  wrong 's  my  pled« 

There  s  not  in  Rome,  —  no  —  not  upon  the  earth, 

A  man  so  wronged.    The  very  ground  I  trea^ 


THE  STAJNDAJID  SPEAKER. 

Is  grudged  me.  —  Chieftains !  ere  the  moon  be  do?ftt» 

My  land  will  be  the  Senate's  spoil ;  my  life, 

The  mark  of  the  first  villain  that  will  stab 

For  lucre.  —  But  there 's  a  time  at  hand  !  —  Gaze  on 

If  I  had  thought  you  cowards,  I  might  have  come 

And  told  you  lies.    But  you  have  now  the  thing 

I  am  ;  —  Rome's  enemy,  —  and  fixed  as  fate 

To  you  and  yours  forever  ! 

The  State  is  weak  as  dust. 

Rome 's  broken,  helpless,  heart-sick.    Vengeance  sits 

Above  her,  like  a  vulture  o'er  a  corpse. 

Soon  to  be  tasted.    Time,  and  dull  decay. 

Have  let  the  waters  round  her  pillar's  foot ; 

And  it  must  fall.    Her  boasted  strength 's  a  ghost 

Fearful  to  dastards  ;  —  yet,  to  trenchant  swords, 

Thin  as  the  passing  air  !    A  single  blow, 

In  this  diseased  and  crumbling  state  of  Rome, 

Would  break  your  chains  like  stubble. 

But  "  ye  've  no  swords  "  ! 

Have  you  no  ploughshares,  scythes  ? 

When  men  are  brave,  the  sickle  is  a  spear ! 

Must  Freedom  pine  till  the  slow  armorer 

Gilds  her  caparison,  and  sends  her  out 

To  glitter  and  play  antics  in  the  sun  ? 

Let  hearts  be  what  they  ought,  —  the  naked  earth 

Will  be  their  magazine ;  —  the  rocks  —  the  trees  — 

Nay,  there 's  no  idle  and  unnoted  thing, 

But,  in  the  hand  of  Valor,  will  out-thrust 

The  spear,  and  make  the  mail  a  mockery ! 


31.  CATILINE'S  LAST  HARANGUE  TO  HIS  ARMY.-/d. 

Brave  comrades  !  all  is  ruined  !    I  disdain 
To  hide  the  truth  from  you.    The  die  is  thrown 
And  now,  let  each  that  wishes  for  long  life 
Put  up  his  sword,  and  kneel  for  peace  to  Rome. 
Ye  are  all  free  to  go.  —  What !  no  man  stirs  • 
Not  one  !  —  a  soldier's  spirit  in  you  all  ? 
Give  mo  your  hands !    (This  moisture  in  my  eyea 
Is  womanish  —  't  will  pass.)    My  noble  hearts ! 
Well  have  you  chosen  to  die !    For,  in  my  mind, 
The  grave  is  better  than  o'erburthened  life  ;  — 
Better  the  quick  release  of  glorious  wounds, 
Than  the  eternal  taunts  of  galling  tongues ;  — 
Better  the  spear-head  quivering  in  the  heart, 
Than  daily  struggle  against  Fortune's  curse  ;  — 
Better,  in  manhood's  muscle  and  high  blood, 
To  leap  the  gulf,  than  totter  to  its  edge 


MARTIAl   AND  POPULAR.  — BULWER 

Id  poverty,  dull  pain,  and  base  decay.— 
Once  more,  I  say,  —  are  ye  resolved  ? 
Then,  each  man  to  his  tent,  and  take  the  arms 
That  he  would  love  to  die  in,  —  for,  this  hour, 
We  storm  the  Consul's  camp.  —  A  last  farewell ! 
When  next  we  meet,  we  '11  have  no  time  to  look, 
How  parting  clouds  a  soldier's  oountenance  :  — 
Few  as  we  are,  we  '11  rouse  them  with  a  peal 
That  shall  shake  Rome !  — 

Now  to  your  cohorts'  heads ,  —  the  word 's  —  Revenpi 


THE  BARD'S  SUMMONS  TO  WAR. -5zr  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton 

Leaning  against  a  broken  parapet. 

Alone  with  Thought,  mused  Caradoc  the  Bard, 
When  a  voice  smote  him,  and  he  turned  and  met 

A  gaze,  prophetic  in  its  sad  regard. 
Beside  him,  solemn  with  his  hundred  years. 
Spoke  the  arch  hierarch  of  the  Cymrian  seers  :  

"  In  vain  through  yon  dull  stupor  of  despair 
Sound  Geraint's  trump  and  OT^aine's  battle-cry  ; 

In  vain  where  yon  rude  clamor  storms  the  air, 
The  Council  Chiefs  stem  maddening  mutiny  ; 

From  Trystan's  mail  the  lion  heart  is  gone, 

And  on  the  breach  stands  Lancelot  alone  ! 

"  Drivelling  the  wise,  and  impotent  the  strong ! 

Fast  into  night  the  life  of  Freedom  dies  ; 
Awake,  Light-Bringer,  wake,  bright  soul  of  song » 

Kindler,  reviver,  re-creator,  rise! 
Crown  thy  great  mission  with  thy  parting  breath, 
And  teach  to  hosts  the  Bard's  disdain  of  death  ! 

*'  So  be  it,  0  voice  from  Heaven,"  the  Bard  replied 
"  Some  gratefiil  tears  may  yet  embalm  my  name; 

Ever  for  human  love  my  youth  hath  sighed, 
And  human  love's  divinest  form  is  fame. 

Is  the  dream  erring  ?  shall  the  song  remain  ? 

Say,  can  one  Poet  ever  live  in  vain  ?  " 

Then  rose  the  Bard,  and  smilingly  unstrung 
His  harp  of  ivory  sheen,  from  shoulders  broad 

Kissing  the  hand  that  doomed  his  life,  he  sprun 
Light  from  the  shattered  wall,  — and  swiftly ''strode 

Where,  herdlike  huddled  in  the  central  space, 

Drooped,  in  dull  pause,  the  cowering  populace. 

Slow,  pitying,  soft  it  glides,  — the  liquid  lay,— 
Sad  with  the  burthen  of  the  Singer's  soul ; 


136 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Tnto  the  heart  it  coiled  its  lulling  way  , 

Wave  upon  wave  the  golden  river  stole ; 
Hushed  to  his  feet  forgetful  Famine  crept, 
And  Woe,  reviving,  veiled  the  eyes  that  wept. 
Then  stern,  and  harsh,  clashed  the  ascending  stram, 
Telling  of  ills  more  dismal  yet  in  store  ; 
'  Rough  with  the  iron  of  the  grinding  chain, 
Dire  with  the  curse  of  slavery  evermore  ; 
Wild  shrieks  from  lips  beloved  pale  warriors  hear, 
Her  child's  last  death-groan  rends  the  mother's  ear 
Then  trembling  hands  instinctive  griped  the  swords  , 

And  men  unquiet  sought  each  other's  eyes  ;  — 
Loud  into  pomp  sonorous  swell  the  chords  ! 

Like  linked  legions  march  the  melodies  ! 
Till  the  full  rapture  swept  the  Bard  along, 
And  o'er  the  listeners  rushed  the  storm  of  song  ! 
And  the  Dead  spoke  !  From  cairns  and  kingly  graves, 

The  Heroes  called ;  —  and  Saints  from  earliest  shrinet 
And  the  Land  spoke  !  —  Mellifluous  river-waves  ; 

Dim  forests  awful  with  the  roar  of  pines ; 
Mysterious  cave^,  from  legend-haunted  deeps ; 
And  torrents  flashing  from  untrodden  steeps ;  — 
The  Land  of  Freedom  called  upon  the  Free ! 

All  Nature  spoke  ;  the  clarions  of  the  wind  : 
The  organ  swell  of  the  majestic  sea ; 

The  choral  stars  ;  the  Universal  Mind 
Spoke,  like  the  voice  from  which  the  world  began, 
"  No  chain  for  Nature  and  the  Soul  of  Man  !  " 
As  leaps  the  war-fire  on  the  beacon  hills, 

Leapt  in  each  heart  the  lofty  flame  divine ; 
As  into  sunlight  flash  the  molten  rills. 

Flashed  the  glad  claymores,  lightening  line  on  line  ; 
From  cloud  to  cloud  as  thunder  speeds  along, 
From  rank  to  rank  rushed  forth  the  choral  song. 
Woman  and  child  — all  caught  the  fire  of  men ; 

To  its  own  Heaven  that  Alleluia  rang ; 
Life  to  the  spectres  had  returned  again  ; 

And  from  the  grave  an  armed  Nation  sprang ! 


n    CARADOC,  THE  BARD  TO  THE  CYMRIANS. —Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lyttan 
No  Cymrian  bard,  by  the  primitive  law,  could  bear  weapons. 

Hark  to  the  measured  march !  —  The  Saxons  come  ! 

The  sound  earth  quails  beneath  the  hollow  tread ' 
Your  fathers  rushed  upon  the  swords  of  Rome 

And  climbed  her  war-«hips,  when  the  Caesar  fled 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  KNOWLES. 


Die  Saxons  come  !  why  wait  within  the  wall  ? 
They  scale  the  mountain  :  —  let  its  torrents  fall ! 
Mark,  ye  have  swords,  and  shields,  and  armor,  yb 

No  mail  defends  the  Cymrian  Child  of  Song ; 
But  where  the  warrior,  there  the  Bard  shall  be ! 

All  fields  of  glory  to  the  bard  belong  ! 
His  realm  extends  wherever  godlike  strife  * 
Spurns  the  base  death,  and  wins  immortal  life 
Unarmed  he  goes  —  his  guard  the  shield  of  all. 

Where  he  bounds  foremost  on  the  Saxon  spear ! 
Unarmed  he  goes,  that,  falling,  even  his  fall 

'Shall  bring  no  shame,  and  shall  bequeath  no  fear ! 
Does  the  song  cease  ?  —  avenge  it  by  the  deed, 
And  make  the  sepulchre  —  a  Nation  freed  ! 


i   ALFRED  THE  GREAT  TO  HIS  MEN.  ~  Oris  inal  Adaptation  from  Knou>le» 

My  friends,  our  country  must  be  free !    The  land 

Is  never  lost  that  has  a  son  to  right  her,  

And  here  are  troops  of  sons,  and  loyal  ones  ! 

Strong  in  her  children  should  a  mother  be  : 

Shall  ours  be  helpless,  that  has  sons  like  us  ? 

God  save  our  native  land,  whoever  pays 

The  ransom  that  redeems  her  !    Now,  what  wait  we  ?  — 

For  Alfred's  word  to  move  upon  the  foe  ? 

Upon  him,  then !    Now  think  ye  on  the  things 

You  most  do  love !    Husbands  and  fathers,  on 

Their  wives  and  children ;  lovers,  on  their  beloved; 

And  all,  upon  their  country  !   When  you  use 

Your  weapons,  think  on  the  beseeching  eyes, 

To  whet  them,  could  have  lent  you  tears  for  water ' 

O,  now  be  men,  or  never  !   From  your  hearths 

ihrust  the  unbidden  feet,  that  from  their  nooks 

Drove  forth  your  aged  sires  —  your  wives  and  babes  .' 

Ihe  couches,  your  fair-handed  daughters  used 

To  spread,  let  not  the  vaunting  stranger  press 

Weary  from  spoiling  you  !    Your  roofs,  that  hear 

Ihe  wanton  not  of  the  intruding  guest, 

That  mocks  their  masters,  —  clear  them  for  the  sake 

Of  the  manhood  to  which  all  that 's  precious  clings 

l^lse  perishes.    The  land  that  bore  you  —  0  ! 

Do  honor  to  her  !    Let  her  glory  in 

Your  breeding  !    Rescue  her  !    Revenge  her,  —  or 

Ne  er  call  her  mother  more  !    Come  on,  my  frienda 

And,  where  you  take  your  stand  upon  the  fieH 

However  jou  advance,  resolve  on  this, 


IHE  STANLARD  SPEAKEK 


'Diat  you  ivill  ne'er  recede,  while  from  the  tongues 
Of  age,  and  womanhood,  and  infancy, 
The  helplessness,  whose  safety  in  you  lies, 
Invokes  you  to  be  strong  !    Come  on !    Come  on  ^ 
I  '11  bring  you  to  the  foe  !    And  when  you  meet  liinij^ 
Strike  hard  !    Strike  home  !    Strike  while  a  dying  blow 
fs  in  an  arm  !    Strike  till  you  're  free,  or  fall ; 


36.    KimZl  TO  TIIE  ILOMANS:.  — Mary  Russell  Mit  ford. 

Friends  ! 

I  come  not  here  to  talk.    Ye  know  too  well 

The  story  of  our  thraldom.    We  are  slaves ! 

The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights 

A  race  of  slaves !    He  sets,  and  his  last  beam 

Falls  on  a  slave  :  not  such  as,  swept  along 

By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  leads 

To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame,  — 

But  case,  ignoble  slaves !  —  slaves  to  a  horde 

Of  petty  tyrants,  feudal  despots  ;  lords, 

Rich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages  ; 

Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen  ;  only  great 

In  that  strange  spell  —  a  name  !    Each  hour,  dark  fraud 

Or  open  ra'^ine,  or  protected  murder, 

Cry  out  against  them.    But  this  very  day, 

An  honest  man,  my  neighbor, — there  he  stands, — 

Was  struck  —  struck  like  a  dog,  by  one  who  wore 

The  badge  of  Urslni !  because,  forsooth. 

He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 

Nor  lifted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts, 

At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian  !   Be  we  men, 

And  suffer  such  dishonor  ?    Men,  and  wash  not 

The  stain  away  in  blood  ?    Such  shames  are  commcn. 

I  have  known  deeper  wrongs.    I,  that  speak  to  ye 

I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy, 

Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope. 

Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy ;  there  was  the  look 

Of  Heaven  upon  his  face,  which  limners  give 

To  the  beloved  disciple.    How  I  loved 

That  gracious  boy  !    Younger  by  fifteen  years 

Brother  at  once  and  son  !    He  left  mj  side, 

A  summer  bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks  —  a  smilt 

Parting  his  innocent  lips.    In  one  short  houi, 

The  pretty,  harmless  boy  was  slain  !    I  saw 

The  corse,  the  mangled  corse,  and  then  I  cried 

For  vengeance  !    Bouse,  ye  Ronians !    Bouse,  ye  slavw 

Have  ye  brave  sons  ?  —  Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 

To  aeo  them  die '   Have  ye  fair  daughters  1  —  Look 


Martial  and  popular.—  Montgomery.  "SS 

To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained, 
Dishonored ;  and,  if  ye  dare  call  for  justice. 
Be  answered  by  the  lash  !    Yet,  this  is  Rome, 
^at  sate  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world  !    Yet,  we  are  Romans 
Why,  m  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  King  !    And  once  again  — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus  !  —  once  again  I  swear 
The  Eternal  City  shall  be  free  ! 

—  <d>  _ — 

36.  THE  PATRIOT'S  PASS-WORT).- James  Montgomery 

"  Make  way  for  liberty  !  "  he  cried,  - 
Made  way  for  liberty,  and  died  ! 

In  arms  the  Austrian  phalanx  stood, 

A  living  wall,  a  human  wood ; 

Impregnable  their  front  appears. 

All  horrent  with  projected  spears. 

Opposed  to  these,  a  hovering  band 

Contended  for  their  father-land  , 

Peasants,  whose  new-found  strength  had  broke 

From  manly  necks  the  ignoble  yoke  ; 

Marshalled  once  more  at  Freedom's  call, 

They  came  to  conquer  or  to  fall. 

And  now  the  work  of  life  and  death 

Hung  on  the  passing  of  a  breath  ; 

The  fire  of  conflict  burned  within  • 

The  battle  trembled  to  begin ; 

Yet,  while  the  Austrians  held  their  ground, 

Point  for  assault  was  nowhere  found ; 

Where'er  the  impatient  Switzers  gazed, 

The  unbroken  line  of  lances  blazed ; 

That  line 't  were  suicide  io  meet. 

And  perish  at  their  tyrants'  feet. 

How  could  they  rest  within  their  graves, 

To  leave  their  homes  the  haunts  of  slaves  ? 

Would  they  not  feel  their  children  tread, 

With  clanking  chains,  above  their  head  * 

It  must  not  be ;  this  day,  this  hour, 

Annihilates  the  invader's  power  I 

All  Switzerland  is  m  the  field. 

She  will  not  fly ;  she  cannot  yield  • 


140 


THM  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


She  must  not  fall ;  her  better  fate 
Here  gives  her  an  immortal  date,, 
Few  were  the  numbers  she  could  boast 
But  every  freeman  was  a  host, 
And  felt  as 't  were  a  secret  known 
That  one  should  turn  the  scale  alone 
While  each  unto  himself  was  he 
On  whose  sole  arm  hung  Victory. 

It  did  depend  on  one,  indeed  ; 

Behold  him,  —  Arnold  Winkelried ! 

There  sounds  not  to  the  trump  of  Fame 

The  echo  of  a  nobler  name. 

Unmarked,  he  stood  amid  the  throng, 

In  rumination  deep  and  long. 

Till  you  might  see,  with  Sudden  grace, 

The  very  thought  come  o'er  his  face ; 

And,  by  the  motion  of  his  form, 

Anticipate  the  bursting  storm  ; 

And,  by  the  uplifting  of  his  brow, 

Tell  where  the  bolt  would  strike,  and  how. 

But 't  was  no  sooner  thought  than  done,  -— 

The  field  was  in  a  moment  won  ! 

"  Make  way  for  liberty  !  "  he  cried, 

Then  ran,  with  arms  extended  wide, 

As  if  his  dearest  friend  to  clasp ; 

Ten  spears  he  swept  within  his  grasp. 

"  Make  way  for  liberty  ! "  he  cried ; 

Their  keen  points  crossed  from  side  to  side ; 

He  bowed  amongst  them,  like  a  tree, 

And  thus  made  way  for  liberty. 

Swift  to  the  breach  his  comrades  fly,  — 

"  Make  way  for  liberty  !  "  they  cry. 

And  through  the  Austrian  phalanx  dart, 

As  rushed  the  spears  through  Arnold's  heart 

While,  instantaneous  as  his  fall, 

Eout,  ruin,  panic,  seized  them  all . 

An  earthquake  could  not  overthrow 

A  city  with  a  surer  blow. 

Thus  Switzerland  again  was  free 

Thus  Death  made  way  for  liberty  1 

W.  RICHARD  TO  THE  PRINCES  OF  THE  CRUSADE.— 5ir  Walter  Scotl    B  1771 ,  i  ISSa 

And  is  it  even  so  ?  And  are  our  brethren  at  such  pains  to  note  th« 
uifirmities  of  our  natural  temper,  and  the  rough  precipitance  of  our  zeal, 
which  may  have  sometimes  urged  us  to  issue  commands  when  thert 
was  little  time  to  hold  council  ?  I  could  not  have  thought  that  ofteocea. 


MARTIAL  AND  POPUl^AE.  SHAKSPBaRB. 


Hi 


"asual  and  unpremeditated,  like  mine,  could  find  sucli  deep  loot  in  th« 
hearts  of  my  allies  in  this  most  holy  cause,  that,  for  m^  sake,  they 
should  withdraw  their  hand  from  the  plough  when  the  furrow  was 
near  the  end ;  for  my  sake,  turn  aside  from  the  direct  path  to  Jeru- 
salem, which  their  swords  have  opened.  I  vainly  thought  that  my 
small  services  might  have  outweighed  my  rash  errors;  that,  if  it 
were  remembered  that  I  pressed  to  the  van  in  an  assault,  it  would  not 
be  forgotten  that  I  was  ever  the  last  in  the  retreat ;  that,  if  I  ele- 
vated my  banner  upon  conquered  fields  of  battle,  it  was  all  the  advan- 
tage I  sought,  while  others  were  dividing  the  spoil.  I  may  liave 
called  the  conquered  city  by  my  name,  but  it  was  to  others  that  I 
yielded  the  dominion.  If  I  have  been  headstrong  in  urging  bold 
counsels,  I  have  not,  methinks,  spared  my  own  blood,  or  my  people's, 
in  carrying  them  into  as  bold  execution ;  or,  if  I  have,  in  the  hurry 
of  march  or  battle,  assumed  a  command  over  the  soldiers  of  others, 
such  have  ever  been  treated  as  my  own,  when  my  wealth  purchased 
the  provisions  and  medicines  which  their  own  sovereigns  could  not 
procure. 

But  it  shames  me  to  remind  you  of  what  all  but  myself  seem  to  have 
forgotten.  Let  us  rather  look  forward  to  our  future  measui^es ;  and, 
believe  me,  brethren,  you  shall  not  find  the  pride,  or  the  wrath,  or  the 
ambition  of  Kichard,  a  stumbling-block  of  offence  in  the  path  to 
which  religion  and  glory  summon  you,  as  with  the  trumpet  of  an 
archangel !  0,  no,  no  !  never  would  I  survive  the  thought  that  my 
frailties  and  infirmities  had  been  the  means  to  sever  this  goodly  fellow- 
ship of  assembled  princes.  I  would  cut  off  my  left  hand  with  my 
right,  could  my  doing  so  attest  my  sincerity.  I  will  yield  up,  volun- 
tarily, all  right  to  command  in  the  host  even  mine  own  liege  subjects. 
They  shall  be  led  by  such  sovereigns  as  you  may  nominate ;  and  their 
King,  ever  but  too  apt  to  exchange  the  leader's  baton  for  the  adven- 
turer's lance,  will  serve  under  the  banner  of  Beauseant  among  the 
Templars,  —  ay,  or  under  that  of  Austria,  if  Austria  will  name  a 
brave  man  to  lead  his  forces.  Or,  if  ye  are  yourselves  a- weary  of  this 
war,  and  feel  your  armor  chafe  your  tender  bodies,  leave  but  with 
Kichard  some  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  of  your  soldiers  to  work  out  the 
accomplishment  of  your  vow ;  and,  when  Zion  is  won,  —  when  Zion 
is  won,  —  we  will  write  upon  her  gates,  not  the  name  of  Richard 
Plantagenet,  but  of  those  generous  Princes  who  intrusted  him  with 
she  means  of  conquest ! 


(8  THE  EARL  OP  RICHMOND  TO  HIS  ARMY.  — Shakspear 6. 

More  than  I  have  said,  loving  countrymen. 
The  leisure  and  enforcement^  of  the  time 
Forbids  to  dwell  on.    Yet  remember  this :  - 
God,  and  our  good  cause,  fight  upon  our  side , 
The  prayers  of  holy  saints,  and  wronged  souls, 
Like  high-reai-ed  bulwarks,  stand  before  oar  faces 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Richard  except,  those  whom  we  fight  against 

Had  rather  have  us  win  than  him  they  follow. 

For  what  is  he  they  follow  ?    Truly,  gentlemen. 

A  bloody  tyrant  and  a  homicide  ; 

One  raised  in  blood,  and  one  in  blood  established; 

One  that  made  means  to  come  by  what  he  hath, 

And  slaughtered  those  that  were  the  means  to  help  hini 

A  base,  foul  stone,  made  precious  by  the  foil 

Of  England's  chair,  where  he  is  falsely  set ; 

One  that  hath  ever  been  God's  enemy. 

Then,  if  you  fight  against  Grod's  enemy, 

God  will,  in  justice,  guard  you  as  his  soldiers ; 

If  you  do  sweat  to  put  a  tyrant  down, 

You  sleep  in  peace,  the  tyrant  being  slain ; 

If  you  do  fight  against  your  country's  foes, 

Your  country's  fat  shall  pay  your  pains  the  hire 

If  you  do  fight  in  safeguard  of  your  wives. 

Your  wives  shall  welcome  home  the  conquerors; 

If  you  do  free  your  children  from  the  sword. 

Your  children's  children  quit  it  in  your  age. 

Then,  in  the  name  of  God  and  all  these  rights, 

Advance  your  standards,  draw  your  willing  swords. 

For  me,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 

Shall  be  this  cold  corpse  on  the  earth's  cold  face ; 

But,  if  I  thrive,  the  gain  of  my  attempt. 

The  least  of  you  shall  share  his  part  thereof. 

Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheerfully : 

God,  and  St.  George  !    Kichmond  and  victory ! 


39.  HENRY  V.  TO  HIS  BOLDIE^S.—Shakspeare. 

What 's  he  that  wishes  for  more  men  from  England  ? 
My  cousin  Westmoreland  ?    No,  my  fair  cousin  ; 
If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enow 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live. 
The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honor. 
I  pray  thee  do  not  wish  for  one  man  more. 
By  J ove,  I  am  not  covetous  of  gold  ; 
Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear  ;  — 
Such  outward  things  dwell  noi  in  my  desires  : 
But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 
I  am  the  most  ofiending  soul  alive. 
No,  'faith,  ray  Lord,  wish  not  a  man  from  England : 
I  would  not  lose,  methinks,  so  great  an  honor 
As  only  one  man  more  wourld  share  from  me, 
For  the  best  \  ope  I  have.    0  !  do  not  wish  one  raort 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  MACAU; 

Rather,  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  m 
lhat  he,  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fi 
Let  hmi  depart;  his  passport  shaL  be  made, 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  intc  his  purse  • 
We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 

This  day  is  called  the  feast  of  Crispian 
He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 
WiJl  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  named. 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian  • 
He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  sees  old  ao-e, 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbors, 
And  say  —  to-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian  ! 
Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars. 
Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot 
But  he  '11  remember,  with  advantages. 
What  feats  he  did  that  day.    Then  shall  our  names, 
familiar  m  his  mouth  as  household  words,  — 
Harry  the  King,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 
Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster,— 
Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remembered. 
Ihis  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son  : 
And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by. 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered ; 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers  : 
^or  he,  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me, 
bhall  be  my  brother  :  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 
Ihis  day  shall  gentle  his  condition. 
And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bod, 
bhall  think  themselves  accursed  they  were  not  here: 
And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  speaks 
lhat  fought  with  us  upon  St.  Crispian's  day/ 


40.  THE  BATTLE  OP  IJRY.-T.  B.  Macaulay. 

glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  from  whom  all  glories  are  ' 
And  glory  to  our  Sovereign  Liege,  King  Henry  of  Navarre  . 
Now  let  there  be  the  merry  sound  of  music  and  the  dance, 
llirough^thyjo^^         green,  and  sunny  vales,  0  pleasant  W  of 

And  ^hou,  Rochelle,  our  own  Rochelle,  proud  city  of  the  water., 
.^gain  let  rapture  light  the  eyes  of  all  thy  mourdng  daughters^ 
As  thou  wert  constant  m  our  ills,  be  joyous  in  our  foy, 

Hurr.t ;  ?  ^^^^^^       chance  of  war 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  '  for  Ivry  and  Kiog  Henry  of  Navarre ' 


144 


THE  STANI>ARD  SPEA&ER 


0 .  how  our  hearts  were  beating,  when,  at  the  dawn  of  day. 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array  ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens,  and  all  its  ^-ebel  peers, 
And  Appanzel's  stout  infantry,  and  Egmont's  Flemish  spears  1 
There  rode  the  brood  of  flilse  Lorraine,  the  curses  of  our  land  ! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst,  a  truncheon  in  his  hand ; 
And,  as  we' looked  on  them,  we  thought  of  Seine's  empurpled  flood 
And  good  Joligni's  hoary  hair  all  dabbled  with  his  blood ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God,  who  rules  the  fate  of  war, 
To  fiijht  for  His  own  holy  Name,  and  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  King  has  come  to  marshal  us,  in  all  his  armor  drest, 

And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume  upon  his  gallant  crest . 

He  looked  upon  his  People,  and  a  tear  was  in  his  eye ; 

He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  his  glance  was  stern  and  high. 

Eight  graciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wing  to  wing, 

Down  all  our  line,  in  deafening  shout,  "  God  save  our  lord,  the  King! 

"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall,  —  as  fall  full  well  he  may, 

For  never  saw  I  promise  yet  of  such  a  bloody  fray,  — 

Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  amid  the  ranks  of  war. 

And  be  your  oriflamme,  to-day,  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

Hurrah !  the  foes  are  moving !    Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum,  and  roaring  culverin ' 
The  fiery  Duke  is  pricking  fast  across  Saint  Andre's  plain,         ,^  > 
With  all  the  hireling  chivalry  of  Guelders  and  Almajnie. 
Now,  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love,  fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies  now,  upon  them  with  the  lance  ! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep,  a  thousand  spears  in  rest, 
A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close  behind  the  snow-white  crest 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed,  while,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed  the  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours  !   Mayenne  hath  turned  his  roin. 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter  —  the  Flemish  Count  is  slain  ; 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Bi«-.ay  gale  ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and  cloven  mail 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our  van 
«  Remember  St.  Bartholomew  ! "  was  passed  from  man  to  man  , 
But  out  spake  gentle  Henry,  then,  —  "  No  Frenchman  is  my  foe ; 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner  !  but  let  your  brethren  go." 
0  '  was  there  ever  such  a  knight,  in  friendship  or  in  war, 
As  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry,  the  soldier  of  Navarre 

Ho!  maidens  of  Vienna  !    Ho  !  matrons  of  Lucerne  ! 

Weep,  weep  and  rend  yr.ur  hair  for  those  who  never  shall  rsturn  . 

Ho !  Philip,  send  for  cliarity  thy  Mexican  pistoles. 

That  Antwerp  monks  may  sing  a  mass  for  thy  poor  spearmen's  souis 


MARTIAii  AND  POPULAR.  TAYLOR. 


145 


He    gallant  nobles  of  the  League,  look  that  jour  arms  be  bright . 
Ho    birghers  of  St.  Geneneve,  keep  watch  and  ward  to-nio-ht ' 
For  our  God  hath  crushed  the  tyrant,  our  God  hath  raised  the  sla^ 
And  mocked  the  counsel  of  the  wise  and  the  valor  of  the  bi  ave. 
ThiQ  glorj  to  His  holy  name,  from  whom  all  glories  are  ! 
imd  ^hry  to  our  sovereign  lord,  King  Henry  of  Navarre  ! 


41.  PUILIP  VAN  ARTEVELDE  TO  THE  MEN  OF  GHENT. -jyenry  Taylot 

Sirs,  ye  have  heard  these  knights  discourse  to  you 
Of  your  ill  fortunes,  telling  on  their  fingers 
The  worthy  leaders  ye  have  lately  lost. 
True,^  they  were  worthy  men,  most  gallant  chiefs ; 
And  ill  would  it  become  us  to  make  light 
Of  the  great  loss  we  Scoffer  by  their  fall 
They  died  like  heroes ;  for  no  recreant  step 
Had  e'er  dishonored  them,  no  stain  of  fear, 
No  base  despair,  no  cowardly  recoil. 
They  had  the  hearts  of  freemen  to  the  last, 
And  the  free  blood  that  bounded  in  their  veins 
Was  shed  for  freedom  with  a  liberal  joy. 
But  had  they  guessed,  or  could  they  but  have  dreamed, 
The  great  examples  which  they  died  to  show 
Should  fall  so  fiat,  should  shine  so  fruitless  here, 
That  men  should  say,  "  For  liberty  these  died,  '  ' 
Wherefore  let  us  be  slaves,"  — had  they  thought  this, 
O,  then,  with  what  an  agony  of  shame. 
Their  blushing  faces  buried  in  the  dust, 
Had  their  great  spirits  parted  hence  for  Heaven  ♦ 

What !  shall  we  teach  our  ch.roniclers  henceforth 
To  write,  that  in  five  bodies  were  contained 
The  sole  brave  hearts  of  Ghent !  which  five  defunct, 
The  heartless  town,  by  brainless  counsel  led, 
Delivered  up  her  keys,  stript  off  her  robes, 
And  so  with  all  humility  besought 
Her  haughty  Lord  that  he  would  scourge  her  lighi]v 
It  shall  not  bo  — no,  verily !  for  now, 
Thus  looking  on  you  as  ye  stand  before  me, 
Mine  eye  can  single  out  full  many  a  man 
Who  lacks  but  opportunity  to  shine 
As  great  and  glorious  as  the  chiefs  that  fell. 

But,  lo!  the  Earl  is  "mercifully  minded  "! 
And,  surely,  if  we,  rather  than  revenge 
The  slaughter  of  our  bravest,  cry  them  shame, 
And  fall  upon  our  knees,  and  say  we  Ve  sinned, 
fhen  will  my  Lord  the  Earl  have  mercy  on  ua, 
A.nd  pardon  us  our  strike  for  liberty  ' 
10 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


O,  Sirs !  look  round  you,  lest  ye  be  deceived 

Forgiveness  may  be  spoken  with  the  tongue, 

Forgiveness  may  be  written  with  the  pen, 

But°think  not  that  the  parchment  and  mouth  pardoE 

Will  e'er  eject  old  hatreds  from  the  heart. 

There 's  that  betwixt  you  been  which  men  remember 

Till  they  forget  themselves,  till  all 's  forgot,  - 

Till  the"'deep  sleep  falls  on  them  in  that  bed 

From  which  no  morrow's  mischief  rouses  them. 

There 's  that  betwixt  you  been  which  you  yourseives 

Should  ye  forget,  would  then  not  be  yourselve?. , 

For  must  it  not  be  thought  some  base  men's  souls 

Have  ta'en  the  seats  of  yours  and  turned  you  out, 

If,  in  the  coldness  of  a  craven  heart. 

Ye  should  forgive  this  bloody-minded  man 

For  all  his  black  and  murderous  monstrous  crimes ! 


V^JS  TYLER'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  KISQ.  — Robert  Southey.    B.  1774;  d.  I 

King  of  England, 
Petitioning  for  pity  is  most  weak,  — 
The  sovereign  People  ought  to  demand  justice. 
I  lead  them  here  against  the  Lord's  anointed, 
Because  his  Ministers  have  made  him  odious ! 
His  yoke  is  heavy,  and  his  burden  grievous. 
Why  do  ye  carry  on  this  fatal  war, 
To  force  upon  the  French  a  King  they  hate  ; 
Tearino-  our  young  men  from  their  peaceful  homes, 
Forcing  his  hard-earned  fruits  from  the  honest  peasant 
Distressing  us  to  desolate  our  neighbors  ? 
Why  is  this  ruinous  poll-tax  imposed. 
But  to  support  your  Court's  extravagance, 
And  your  mad  title  to  the  Crown  of  France  ? 
Shall  we  sit  tamely  down  beneath  these  evils, 
Petitioning  for  pity  ?    King  of  England, 
Why  are  we  sold  like  cattle  in  your  markets. 
Deprived  of  every  privilege  of  man  ? 
Must  we  lie  tamely  at  our  tyrant's  feet, 
And,  like  your  spaniels,  lick  the  hand  that  beats  us 
You  sit  at  ease  in  your  gay  palaces :  _ 
The  costly  banquet  courts  your  appetite ; 
Sweet  music  soothes  your  slumbers  :  we,  the  while, 
Scarce  by  hard  toil  can  earn  a  little  food, 
And  sleep  scarce  sheltered  from  the  cold  night  wmd, 
Whilst  your  wild  projects  wrest  the  little  froir.  us 
Which  might  have  cheered  the  wintry  hours  of  age ! 
The  Parliament  forever  asks  more  money; 


MARHAL  and  fOPULAR.  WOLFE.  147 

We  toil  and  sweat  for  money  for  your  taxes  ; 

Where  is  the  benefit,  -  what  good  reap  we 

trom  all  the  counsels  of  your  government? 

Ihmk  you  that  we  should  quarrel  with  the  French  ? 

VV  hat  boots  to  us  your  victories,  your  dory  ? 

pay,  we  fight,  —  ,jou  profit  at  your  ease* ' 
Vo  you  not  clann  the  country  as  your  own  « 
Do  you  not  call  the  venison  of  the  forest, 
1  he  birds  of  Heaven,  your  own  ?_  prohibiting  us, 
w\  V  xt"^^     ""^^^  seize  the  prey 

Which  Nature  offers  ?    King !  is  all  this  just  ? 
Think  you  we  do  not  feel  the  wrongs  we  sufier  ? 
Ihe  hour  of  retribution  is  at  hand 
And  tyrants  tremble,  -  mark  mc'lving  of  England 

AndThfJ?  iT'  «ig^t-cloud  had  lowered, 

Ana  the  sentinel  stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky  • 

And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpowered, 
Ihe  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die 

When  reposing  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw, 

A,  I  f  Z   :'T''''^  ^^^^^  ^^'^^  g^^^-^^ed  the  slain, 
At  the  dead  of  the  night  a  sweet  Vision  I  saw 

And  thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamed  it  again.  . 
Methought,  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array, 

i^ar,  far  I  had  roamed  on  a  desolate  track  • 
1  was  autumn,  _  and  sunshine  arose  on  the  way 

To  the  home  of  my  fathers,  that  welcomed  me  back 
I  flew  to  the  pleasant  fields,  traversed  so  oft 

In  life  s  morning  march,  when  my  bosom  was  youncr 
I  heard  my  own  mountain-goats  bleating  aloft 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-rolpers  sung. 
Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore 

From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to  part  • 
My  little  ones  kissed  me  a  thousand  times  o'er  ' 

And  my  wife  sobbed  aloud  in  her  fulness  of'heart 
Stay  stay  with  us,  -  rest,  thou  art  weary  and  worn  » ' 
And  fam  was  their  war-broken  soldier  to  stay  1  ' 
But  sorrow  returned  with  the  dawning  of  morn 
And  the  voice  m  my  dreammg  ear  melted  away. 

^  fO  THE  AKM.  BEFORE  QHEBEC,  1759.-^...  3,^^ 

Oie'spTrHnTL^lsS^^^^       "T^^^       fellow-soldie'rs,  or 
P-Lurenter;rr-l-tt.a 


148 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEU. 


sarmounted ;  and  the  city  of  Quebec,  the  object  of  all  our  toils,  aow 
stands  in  full  view  before  us.  A  perfidious  enemy,  who  have  darea  tc 
exasperate  you  by  their  cruelties,  but  not  to  oppose  you  on  equaJ 
ground,  are  now  constrained  to  face  you  on  the  open  plam,  without 
ramparts  or  intrenchments  to  shelter  them. 

You  know  too  well  the  forces  which  compose  their  army  to  dreaxl 
tbeir  superior  numbers.  A  few  regular  troops  from  old  France,  weak- 
ened }>y  hunger  and  sickness,  who,  when  fresh,  were  unable  to  with- 
stand the  British  soldiers,  are  their  General's  chief  dependence.  Those 
numerous  companies  of  Canadians,  insolent,  mutinous,  unsteady,  and 
ill-disciplined,  have  exercised  his  utmost  skill  to  keep  them  together  to 
this  time ;  and,  as  soon  as  their  irregular  ardor  is  damped  by  one  firm 
fire,  they  will  instantly  turn  their  backs,  and  give  you  no  further 
trouble  but  in  the  pursuit.  As  for  those  savage  tribes  of  Indians, 
whose  horrid  yells  in  the  forests  have  struck  many  a  bold  heart  with 
affright,  terrible  as  they  are  with  a  tomahawk  and  scalping-kmfe  _  to  a 
flying  and  prostrate  foe,  you  have  experienced  how  little  their  ferocity  is 
to  be  dreaded  by  resolute  men  upon  fair  and  open  ground :  you  can 
now  only  consider  them  as  the  just  objects  of  a  severe  revenge  for  the 
unhappy  fate  of  many  slaughtered  countrymen.  ^ 

This  day  puts  it  into  your  power  to  terminate  the  fatigues  ot  a  siege 
which  has  so  long  employed  your  courage  and  patience.  Possessed 
with  a  full  confidence  of  the  certain  success  which  British  valor  must 
gain  over  such  enemies,  I  have  led  you  up  these  steep  and  dangemua 
rocks,  only  solicitous  to  show  you  the  foe  within  your  reach,  ihe 
impossibility  of  a  retreat  makes  no  difference  in  the  situation  of  men 
resolved  to  conquer  or  die  :  and,  believe  me,  my  friends,  if  your  con- 
quest could  be  bought  with  the  blood  of  your  General,  he  would  most 
ebserfullj  resign  a  life  which  he  has  long  devoted  to  his  country, 


i&  THE  AMERICAN  FLAG.  —J.  R.  Drake.    Born,  1795  ;  died,  1820 

When  Freedom,  from  her  mountain  height, 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dies 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white, 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light 
Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun, 
She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down. 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 
Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  DRAKE. 

And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven. 
When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 

And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  Heavesa, 
Child  of  the  Sun  !  to  thee 't  is  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free  ; 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke  ; 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory  ! 

Flag  of  the  brave  !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high. 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on,  — - 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and°wet,' 
Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet,— 
Each  soldier's  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  thj  sky-born  glories  burn  ; 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And,  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 
Ihen  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 

And  cowering  foes  shall  fall  beneath 
Mch  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 

That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 
Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean's  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave 
When  Death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back, 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  Heaven  and  thee: 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  %, 
In  triumph,  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home 
±sy  angel  hands  to  Valor  given  ! 

Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 
And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  Heaven 

i^orever  float  that  standard  sheet  ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  ruu 
A  /^^^        soil  beneath  our  feet, 
And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  t 


^fy^  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 

™  ™  -™  ■ 

The  time  is  now  near  at  hand  which  must  prohably  determm. 
whether  Americans  are  to  be  freemen  or  toes ;  whether  they  are  to 
^vranY  pZe  ty  they  can  call  their  own  ;  whether  the,r  houses  and 
Ss  are  to  be  iuaged  and  destroyed,  and  themselves  consigned  t«  a 
["wretcheLsrfrom  which  no  human  efforts  will  IcUver  them 
The  fate  of  unborn  millions  will  now  depend,  under  God,  on  the  cour 
j  iic  tate  01  rai""'"  q  j     ^1  umelentrng  enemj 

?irl:5tel:'c:orb';ave  resistance,  or  the  most  abject  sul. 
mission     We  haye,  therefore,  to  resolve  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

Our  own^  our  country's  honor,  calls  upon  us  for  a  — s  and 
maS";  eTerUon;  and  i/  we  Xl?" 

■u^=e,'"a:^d\S:fi^^ 

is,  to  animate  and  encourage  us  to  great  ^"^^  nob  e  act^n^^^^    The  eyes 

mmmsm 

only,  and  tney  navo  endeavor  to  intimidate 

various  occasions  by  a  ^^ppo  ed  with  firmness  and  cool- 

their  men  are  conscious  ot  it ;  and,  ir  opposca  witu  v„^^U,lo-fl 

until  he  is  sure  of  doing  execution. 

«,  TO  THE  ARMY  OF  ITALY,  MAY  15,  im. -Napoleon  Bonaparte.  B.  1769  jd.  1821 
Original  Translation. 

S-^natSS^lS^^^^ 
'F^ct^kilan  ^  yours;  and  over  all  ^om^-^^^^^^f '^^^^^^^ 

%Stwl:e«S.^^^^^^^^^^^ 


MiiHTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  LAMAMZNE. 


151 


daj  Tho^vvauntedrampartsof  Italy  proved  insufficient,  ^ou  trav 
ersed  them  as  rapidly  as  you  did  the  Apennines.  Successes  sa 
Qumci'ous  and  brilliant  have  carried  joy  to  the  heart  of  your  country 
Your  representatives  have  decreed  a  festival,  to  be  celebrated  in  ali 
the  communes  of  the  Republic,  in  honor  of  your  victories.  There  will 
jour  fathers,  mothers,  wives,  sisters,  all  who  hold  you  dear,  reioict. 
over  your  trmmphs,  and  boast  that  you  belong  to  them 

Yes,  Soldiers,  you  have  done  much  ;  but  much  still  remains  for  you 
to  do.  bhall^  It  be  said  of  us  that  we  knew  how  to  conquer,  but  not 
to  profit  by  vic-tory  ?  Shall  posterity  reproach  us  with  having  found 
a  Capua  m  Lombardy  ?  Nay,  fellow-'soldiers !  I  see  you  alreadv 
eager  to  cry  "  to  arms  !  "  Inaction  fatigues  you;  and  days  lost  to 
glory  are  to  you  days  lost  to  happiness.  Let  us,  then,  be-one  !  We 
have  yet  many  forced  marches  to  make  ;  enemies  to  vanquish  ;  laurels 
to  gather;  and  injuries  to  avenge!  Let  those  who  have  sharpened 
the  poniards  of  civil  war  in  France,  who  have  pusillanimously  assassi- 
nated  our  Ministers,  who  have  burned  our  vessels  at  Toulon  —  le< 
them  now  tremble  !    The  hour  of  vengeance  has  knolled  ' 

But  let  not  the  People  be  disquieted.  We  are  the  friends  of  everT 
People:  and  more  especially  of  the  descendants  of  the  Brutuses,  the 
bciDios  and  other  great  men  to  whom  we  loot  as  bright  exemplars.  To 
reestablish  the  Capitol ;  to  place  there  with  honor  the  statues  of  the 
neroes  who  made  it  memorable;  to  rouse  the  Roman  People,  un- 
nerved  by  many  centuries  of  oppression,  -  such  will  be  some  of  the 
fruits  of  our  victories  They  will  constitute  an  epoch  for  posterity, 
loyou,  Soldiers  will  belong  the  immortal  honor  of  redeeming  the 
fairest  portion  of  Europe.  The  French  People,  free  and  respected  by 
he  wnole  world,  shall  give  to  Europe  a  glorious  peace,  which  shah 
mdemmfy  It  for  all  the  sacrifices  which  it  has  borne,  the  last  ciz 
years.    Then,  by  your  own  firesides  you  shall  repose ;  and  your  fellow- 


48.  LORD  BYRON  TO  THE  GREEKS.  -  Alphonse  De  Lamartine. 
Original  Translation. 

A  STRANGER  to  jour  dime,  O  men  of  Greece !  —  born  under  a  sun 
less  pure  of  an  ancestry  less  renowned,  than  youi-s,-I  feel  how 
unworthy  .s  the^offering  of  the  life  I  bring  you- you,  who  numb^ 
kin^  heroes  and  demi-gods,  among  your  progenitors^  But,  through 
out  the  world  wherever  the  lustre  of  your  history  has  shed  its  rays 
-wherever  the  heart  of  man  has  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  g  orZr 
nd  h  °f  misfortune, -Greece  may'count  I  frLd 

^d  her  children  an  avenger.  I  come  not  here  in  the  vain  hone  to 
-timulate  the  courage  of  men  already  roused  and  resolved  OnTso^ 
cry  remained  for  you,  and  you  have  uttered  it.  Your  lanrnm^c  ha^ 
»ow  one  only  word  -  Liberty  -    Ah!  what  other  invSofn^ 


f52  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 

the  men  of  Sparta  — of  Athens  — to  bid  them  rise?  Ihese  Wu4 
Heavens,  these  mountains,  these  waters,  —  here ,  are  your  orators  — 
here  is  your  present  Demosthenes !  Wherever  the  eye  caa  range, 
wherever  the  feet  can  tread,  your  consecrated  &:)il  recounts  a  ^tri- 
umph or  a  glorious  death.  From  Leuctra  to  Marathon,  every  mch 
of  ground  responds  to  you  — cries  to  you  — for  vengeance!  liberty 
!;rlory  '  virtue !  country !  These  voices,  which  tyrants  cannot  stifle, 
demand,  — not  words,  but  steel.  'T  is  here  !  Receive  it !  Arm  .  Lek 
the  thirsting  earth  at  length  be  refreshed  with  the  blood  of^her  op- 
pressors' What  sound  more  awakening  to  the  brave  than  the  clank 
of  his  country's  fetters  ?  Should  the  sword  ever  tremble  m  your 
0-rasr),  remember  yesterday  !  think  of  to-morrow  !  t    i  u 

°  For  myself,  in  return  for  the  alliance  which  I  bring  you,  1  ask  but 
the  recompense  of  an  honorable  grave.  I  ask  but  the  privilege  of 
shedding  my  blood  with  you,  in  your  sacred  cause.  I  ask  but  to 
know,  in  dying,  that  I  too  belong  to  Greece  — to  liberty  !  Yes,  might 
the  Pilgrim  hope  that,  on  the  pillars  of  a  new  Parthenon,  his  name 
might,  one  day,  be  inscribed,—  or,  that  in  the  nobler  mausoleum  ot 
your  hearts  his  memory  might  be  cherished,  —  he  were  well  content. 
The  tomb  where  Freedom  weeps  can  never  have  been  prematurely 
reached  by  its  inmate.  Such  martyrdom  is  blessed,  indeed.  Whal 
bigaer  fortune  can  ambition  covet? 


).  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE,  1809  —Rev  Charles  Wolfe. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly,  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  ,  our  bayonets  turning  ; 
l5y  the  struggling  moonbeams'  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast. 

Nor  in  sheet,  nor  in  shroud,  we  wound  him ; 

But  he  lay,  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said. 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 
We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed, 

And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  wouM  tread  o'er  \m  head» 

Ani  we  far  awa/  on  the  billow ! 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.  —  CAMPBELL, 


Lightly  they  '11  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him ; 
But  little  he  'ii  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on, 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him ! 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done, 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun. 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame,  fresh  and  gory  ! 

We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone, 
But  we  left  him  —  alone  with  his  glory ! 


m.  THE  BATTLE  0¥  HOHENLINDEN,  1800.  —  TAoTrcoa  CampbeU 

On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow 
At  id  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed, 
Each  warrior  drew  his  battle-blade. 
And  furious  every  charger  neighed, 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven, 
Then  rushed  the  steeds  to  battle  driven, 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Far  flashed  the  red  artillery. 

And  redder  yet  those  fires  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  blood-stained  snow , 
And  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  Iser  rolling  rapidly. 

T  is  morn  ;  but  scarce  yon  lurid  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
While  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 

Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 

The  combat  deepens.    On,  ye  brave 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 
Wav?,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave 

Ard  charge  with  all  thy  chivilry » 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Ah !  few  shall  part  where  many  meet 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sbjset. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 

Sha^l  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre 


61  &ONG  OP  THE  GREEKS  1S22.  — Thomas  Campbell. 

Again  to  the  battle,  Achaians  ! 

Our  hearts  bid  the  tyrants  defiance , 
Qui  land,  —  the  first  garden  of  Liberty's  tree, — 
It  has  been,  and  shall  yet  be,  the  land  of  the  free 

For  the  cross  of  our  faith  is  replanted. 

The  pale  dying  crescent  is  daunted, 
And  we  march  that  the  foot-prints  of  Mahomet's  siaves 
May  be  washed  out  in  blood  from  our  forefathers'  gravefc 

Their  spirits  are  hovering  o'er  us, 

And  the  sword  shall  to  glory  restore  us. 

Ah  !  what  though  no  succor  advances, 
Nor  Christendom's  chivalrous  lances 

Are  stretched  in  our  aid  ?  —  Be  the  combat  our  owu  ! 

And  we  Tj  perish  or  conquer  more  proudly  alone  ; 
For  we 've  sworn  by  our  country's  assaulters, 
3y  the  Ttrgins  they've  dragged  from  our  altars, 

Sy  our""  massacred  patriots,  our  children  in  chains. 

By  our  heroes  of  old,  and  their  blood  in  our  veins, 
That,  living,  we  will  be  victorious. 
Or  that,  dying,  our  deaths  shall  be  glorious. 

A  breath  of  submission  we  breathe  not : 
The  sword  that  we 've  drawn  we  will  sheathe  aot 
Its  scabbard  is  left  where  our  martyrs  are  laid. 
And  the  vengeance  of  ages  has  whetted  its  blade. 
Earth  may  hide,  waves  engulf,  fire  consume  us, 
But  they  shall  not  to  slavery  doom  us : 
If  they  rule,  it  shall  be  o'er  our  ashes  and  graves :  — 
But  we 've  smote  them  already  with  fire  on  the  waves, 
And  new  triumphs  on  land  are  before  us ;  — 
To  the  charge !  —  Heaven's  banner  is  o'er  us. 

This  day  —  shall  ye  blush  for  its  story  ? 

Or  brighten  your  lives  with  its  glory  ?  — 
Our  women  — 0,  say,  shall  they  shriek  in  despair. 
Or  embrace  us  from  conquest,  with  wreaths  in  their  hair  ? 

Accursed  may  his  memory  blacken. 

If  a  coward  there  be  that  would  slacken 
Till  we 've  trampled  the  turban,  and  shown  ourselves  worth 
Being  sprung  from,  and  named  for,  the  gfod-like  of  earth 


MARTIAL  AND  POPULAR.—  CAMPBELL. 


158 


Strike  home  !  —  and  the  world  shall  revere  ns 
As  heroes  descended  from  heroes. 

Old  Greece  lightens  up  with  emotion  ! 

Her  inlands,  her  isles  of  the  ocean, 
Fanes  rebuilt,  and  fair  towns,  shall  with  jubilee  ring-, 
And  the  Nine  shall  new  hallow  their  Helicon's  spring. 

Our  hearths  shall  be  kindled  in  gladness, 
^  That  were  cold,  and  extinguished  in  sadness 
Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white  waving  aima 
Smgmg  joj  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms,— 

When  the  blood  of  jon  Mussulman  cravens 

Shall  have  crimsoned  the  beaks  of  our  ravens ! 


52.  FALL  OF  WARSAW,  1794.  -  Thomas  Campbell. 

0  !  SACRED  Truth  !  thv  triumph  ceased  a  while, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  leagued  Oppression  poured  to  Northern  wara 
Her  whiskered  pandours  and  her  fierce  hussars 
Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn. 
Pealed  her  loud  drum,  and  twanged  her  trumpet  horn  ! 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland  —  and  to  man ! 

Warsaw's  last  champion  from  her  heights  surveyed 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  a  waste  of  ruin  laid  — 
0  Heaven  !  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save! 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 
Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains. 
Rise,  fellow-men  !  our  country  yet  remains  I 
By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high, 
And  swear  for  her  to  live  !  —  with  her  to  die  ! 

He  said;  and  on  the  rampart  heights  arrayed 
His  trusty  warriors,  few,  but  undismayed ; 

Firm  paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form. 

Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm  ; ' 

Low,  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly,— . 

"Revenge,  or  death !  "  —  the  watchword  and  reply  ; 

Then  pealed  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm. 

And  the  loud  tocsin  tolled  their  last  alarm  \ 
In  vain,  alas  !  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few  ' 

From  rank  to  rank  your  volleyed  thunder  flew  ,~ 

0  !  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 

Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime  ; 

Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe, 

Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe ! 

Propped  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear 


56 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Olosed  her  bright  eye,  and  curbed  her  high  career 
Hope  for  a  seascn,  bade  the  world  farewell, 
And  Freedom  shrieked,  as  Kosciusko  fell ! 

0  righteous  Heaven  !  ere  Freedom  found  a  grave, 
Why  slept  the  sword,  omnipotent  to  save  ? 
Where  was  thine  arm,  0  vengeance  !  where  thy  rod, 
That  smote  the  foes  of  Sion  and  of  God  ? 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled  ! 
Friends  of  the  world  !  restore  your  swords  to  man, 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van ! 
Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone, 
And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own  ! 
0  !  once  again  to  Freedom's  cause  return 
The  patriot  Tell,—  the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn 

Yes,  thy  proud  lords,  unpitied  land !  shall  see 
That  man  hath  yet  a  soul,  —  and  dare  be  free  f 
A  little  while,  along  thy  saddening  plains, 
The  starless  night  of  Desolation  reigns ; 
Truth  shall  restore  the  light  by  Nature  given. 
And,  like  Prometheus,  bring  the  fire  of  Heaven ! 
Prone  to  the  dust  Oppression  shall  be  hurled, 
Her  name,  h3r  nature,  withered  from  the  world ' 


53  MARCO  B0Z2JkB.IS, —Fitz-Greene  Halleck. 

Ma  TO  Bozzaris,  the  Epaninonaas  of  modern  Greece,  fell  In  a  night  attack  apon  the  Turkic 
»Sp  at  KS  the  site  of  the  ancient  Plat^a,  August  20, 1823,  and  expired  mJLe  a.omeat  d 
Kiy.   Hi3  last  words  were  :  -   To  die  for  liberty  is  a  pleasure,  and  not  a  paia. 

At  midnight,  in  his  guarded  tent, 

The  Turk  was  dreaming  of  the  hour 
When  Greece,  her  knee  in  suppliance  bent, 

Should  tremble  at  his  power : 
In  dreams  through  camp  and  court  he  bore 
The  trophies  of  a  conqueror ; 

In  dreams  his  song  of  triumph  heard ; 
Then  wore  his  monarch's  signet  ring,  — 
Then  pressed  that  monarch's  throne,^ —  a  king 
As  wild  his  thoughts,  and  gay  of  wing 

As  Eden's  garden  bird. 

An  hour  passed  on,  —  the  Turk  awoke  • 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last ; 
He  woke,  to  hear  his  sentries  shriek,  — 
"  To  arms !   they  come !  the  Greek !  thi  Greek  ' 
He  woke,  to  die  midst  flame  and  smok^, 
And  shout,  and  groan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling  thick  and  fast 


MARTIAL  AND  POPOLAR.  — HALLECK, 

As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud , 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  :  — 
"  Strike  —  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires ! 
Strike  —  for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ! 
Strike  —  for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires . 

God,  and  your  native  land  I " 

They  fought,  like  brave  men,  long  and  well ; 

They  piled  the  ground  with  Moslem  slain ; 
They  conquered  ;  but  Bozzaris  fell, 

Bleeding  at  every  vein. 
His  few  surviving  comrades  saw 
His  smile,  when  rang  their  proud  hurrah, 

And  the  red  field  was  won ; 
Then  saw  in  death  his  eyelids  close, 
Calmly,  as  to  a  night's  repose, 

Like  flowers  at  set  of  sun. 

Come  to  the  bridal  chamber,  Death ! 

Come  to  the  mother's  when  she  feels 
For  the  first  time  her  first-born's  breath ; 

Come  when  the  blessed  seals 
That  close  the  pestilence  are  broke. 
And  crowded  cities  wail  its  stroke ; 
Come  in  Consumption's  ghastly  form. 
The  earthquake  shock,  the  ocean  storm ; 
Come  when  the  heart  beats  high  and  warm, 

With  banquet  song,  and  dance,  and  win0,-iss 
And  thou  art  terrible  :  the  tear, 
The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier 
And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear. 

Of  agony,  are  thine. 

But  to  the  hero,  when  his  sword 

Has  won  the  battle  fbr  the  free. 
Thy  voice  sounds  like  a  prophet's  word, 
And  in  its  hollow  tones  are  heard 

The  thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be. 
Bozzaris !  with  the  storied  brave 

Greece  nurtured  in  her  glory's  time, 
Rest  thee  :  there  is  no  prouder  grave, 

Even  in  her  own  proud  clime. 

We  tell  thy  doom  without  a  sigh , 
For  thou  art  Freedom's  now,  and  Fame's^" 
One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 

That  were  not  boi'n  to  die ! 


15 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKE2. 


54  THE  SEMINOLE'S  DEFIANCE.  —  G.  W.  Patten 

Blaze,  with  your  serried  columns !   I  \? ill  not  bend  the  knee ; 
The  shackle  ne'er  again  shall  bind  the  arm  which  now  is  free  ! 
I 've  mailed  it  with  the  thunder,  when  the  tempest  muttered  low  , 
And  77here  it  falls,  ye  well  may  dread  the  lightning  of  its  blow. 
[ 've  scared  you  in  the  city ;  I 've  scalped  you  on  the  plain ; 
Gro,  count  your  chosen  where  they  fell  beneath  my  leaden  rain  ! 
[  scorn  your  proffered  treaty ;  the  pale-face  I  defy  ; 
Revenge  is  stamped  upon  my  spear,  and  "  blood  "  my  battle-cry  ! 

Some  strike  for  hope  of  booty ;  some  to  defend  their  all ;  — 

I  battle  for  the  joy  I  have  to  see  the  white  man  fall. 

I  love,  among  the  wounded,  to  hear  his  dying  moan, 

And  catch,  while  chanting  at  his  side,  the  music  of  his  groan. 

Ye 've  trailed  me  through  the  forest ;  ye 've  tracked  me  o'er  the  stream 

And  struggling  through  the  everglade  your  bristling  bayonets  gleam 

But  I  stand  as  should  the  warrior,  with  his  rifle  and  his  spear ; 

The  scalp  of  vengeance  still  is  red,  and  warns  you,  —  "  Come  not  here ! 

Think  ye  to  find  my  homestead  ?  —  I  gave  it  to  the  fire. 

My  tawny  household  do  ye  seek  ?  —  I  am  a  childless  sire. 

But,  should  ye  crave  life's  nourishment,  enough  I  have,  and  good ; 

I  live  on  hate,  —  't  is  all  my  bread  ;  yet  light  is  not  my  food. 

I  loathe  you  with  my  bosom !  I  scorn  you  with  mine  eye  ! 

And  I  '11  taunt  you  with  my  latest  breath,  and  fight  you  till  I  die ! 

[  ne'er  will  ask  for  quarter,  and  I  ne'er  will  be  your  slave ; 

But  I  '11  swim  the  sea  of  slaughter  till  I  sink  beneath  the  wave ! 


66.  BATTLE  HYMN.  —  Theodore  Korner.    Born,  1791 ;  fell  in  battle,  1813. 

Father  of  earth  and  Heaven !  I  call  thy  name ! 

Round  me  the  smoke  and  shout  of  battle  roll ; 
My  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  rustling  flame ; 

Father !  sustain  an  untried  soldier's  soul. 

Or  life,  or  death,  whatever  be  the  goal 
That  crowns  or  closes  round  the  struggling  hour, 

Thou  knowest,  if  ever  from  my  spirit  stole 
One  deeper  prayer,  't  was  that  no  cloud  might  lower 
On  my  young  fame  !  —  0  hear  !  God  of  eternal  power ! 

Now  for  the  fight !    Now  for  the  cannon-peal ! 

Forward,  —  through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud,  and  fir« 
Glorious  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  crash  of  steel, 

The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire  ! 

They  shake !  like  broken  waves  their  squares  retire  ! 
On  them,  hussars  !    Now  give  them  rein  and  heel ; 

Think  of  the  orphaned  child,  the  murdered  sire  : 
Earth  cries  for  blood !  In  thunder  oil  them  wheel ! 
This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  triumph-seal 


TART  THIRD. 


SENATORIAL. 


1.  AGAINST  PHILIP. -Dem»«4™.,.   Original  T,an,lalU,n. 

.■iira\T4S:r;irii*o!  "s?  ?L!tfsrL°;t'?  i-"  "°*  ^«  -^^ 

vhocgh  his  lun-»  were  \7eak   hi^  pvHr.,  if  ^  •  he  determined  to  study  elDouence. 

impediments  heovZ  'n^Ilf^^^^^^  his  gestures  awkwid.  ^Tbesa 

don,  alarmed  the  Greci-.-n  stated  ^Jl^o  t  t|ie  encroachments  of  Philip,  Kin-  of  Mace- 

■     of  harangues,  so  celebrat^rtha^  s^m?l«    r:^.'^^'  --^^^e^bis  countrymen  to  resistance  by  a  sS 
lnfluence%yhich  he  a^quTred  hf emp  Iv^^^  T'l^ef-        "^'^^  ^^^"^^  Philippics.  S 

come  down  of  his  cowardice  anrv^S^bdl^^^^^^^  'r^'  charges  that  have 

«lgMh  and  m„,h  Philippic,,  Si/,, io^  Le^hS  «  :TT'J'°''J''^ 
Cro™,  are  chiefly  tra„Wfrom  Sti*vcSt?SlS  Vvyy^S^TcrSf  "'^  °° 

Begin  0  Men  of  Athens,  by  not  despairing  of  your  situation  how 
ever  deplorable  it  may  seem;  for  the%ery  cause  of  C  form^ 
reyerses  oilers  the  best  encounxgement  for  the  future/°L  how 
fce  tr*""'""'''  ^  brought  about  your  disasters' 

If  these  had  come  upon  you  in  spite  of  your  £ost  strenuous  eirti^n  ' 
hen  only  might  all  hopes  of  an  amelioration  in  your  affdrs  ab"n' 
du?W    m  ?'  H        «™"try"^»-'  when^  will  y  fd 

R?;'  ■   ^"ly-  »  «™nt !  or  else,  by  jLter  neces 

lor  my^,ell,  1  can  conceive  of  no  necessity  more  ursjent  to  free  snnk 
than  the  pressure  of  dishonor.    Tell  me,  is  it  your  wfeh  to  go  atou 
FlT'u^""'  ™^  »o««"»ally,  asking,  '.y/iXs  there 

new  ?      Ah  !  what  should  there  be  new  if  not  tl  nt  I  ul  ^  • 
«>uld  _r  Athens,  and  lord  it  over  gT^  e  ?    "  Is  p\iKd'" 

are  ^uteTe^h^r  to W  ^"^^  «  Athenia'ns,  that  non  of  you 


(60 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Lei,  us  but  attack,  0,  Athenians,  and  the  war  itself  will  disclose  the 
enemy's  weak  point.  But,  if  we  tarry  at  home,  lazily  listening  ta 
Bpeech-makers,  in  their  emulous  abuse  of  one  another,  never,  —  no. 
never,  shall  we  accomplish  a  single  necessary  step  !  .    i  • 

Some  among  you,  retailing  the  news,  affirm  that  Philip  is  plotting 
with  Lacedsemon  the  ruin  of  Thebes  and  the  dismemberment  of  our 
democracies;  others  make  him  send  ambassadors  to  the  Great  King; 
others  tell  he  is  fortifying 'places  in  lUyria.  All  have  their  differ- 
ent stories.  For  myself,  Athenians,  I  do,  by  the  Gods,  believe  that 
this  man  is  intoxicated  by  his  magnificent  exploits ;  I  believe  that  a 
thousand  dazzling  projects  lure  his  imagination ;  and  that,  seeing  no 
barrier  opposed  to  his  'career,  he  is  inflated  by  success.  But,  trust  me, 
he  does  not  so  combine  his  plans  that  all  our  fools  of  low  degree  may 
penetrate  them;  which  fools  — who  are  they  but  the  gossips?  If, 
leavin<y  them  to  their  reveries,  we  would  consider  that  this  man  is  our 
enemy^  —  our  despoiler,  —  that  we  have  long  endured  his  insolence ; 
that  all  the  succors,  on  which  we  counted,  have  been  turned  against 
as;  that  henceforth  our  only  resource  is  in  ourselves  ;  that,  to  refuse 
now  to  carry  the  war  into  his  dominions,  would  surely  be  to  imposo 
upon  us  the  fatal  necessity  of  sustaining  it  at  the  gates  of  Athens  • 
—  if  we  would  comprehend  all  this,  we  should  then  know  what  it  im- 
ports  us  to  know,  and  discard  all  idiot  conjectures.  For  it  is  not  your 
duty  to  dive  into  the  future ;  but  it  does  behoove  you  to  look  in  the  face 
the  calamities  which  that  future  must  bring,  unless  you  shake  off  your 
present  heedless  inactivity. 


2.   DEQENERACT  OF  ATHENS.  — DemosiAenes.    Original  Translation. 

Contrast,  0  men  of  Athens,  your  conduct  with  that  of  your  an 
cestors.  Loyal  towards  the  People  of  Greece,  religious  towards  tht, 
Gods,  faithful  to  the  rule  of  civic  equality,  they  mounted,  by  a  siir4 
path,  to  the  summit  of  prosperity,  mat  is  your  condition,  under 
your  present  complaisant  rulers  ?  Is  it  still  the  same  ?  Has  it  m  any 
respect  changed  ?  In  how  many !  I  confine  myself  to  this  simple 
fact:  Sparta  prostrate,  Thebes  occupied  elsewhere,  —  with  no  power 
capable  of  disputing  our  sovereignty,  —  able,  in  fact,  m  the  peaceable 
possession  of  our  own  domains,  to  be  the  umpire  of  other  Nations,  — 
what  have  we  done?  We  have  lost  our  own  provinces;  and  dissi 
pated,  with  no  good  result,  more  than  fifteen  hundred  talents ;  the 
allies  which  we  had  gained  by  war  your  counsellors  have  deprived  us 
of  by  peace;  and  we  have  trained  up  to  power  our  formidable  tor. 
Whosoever  denies  this,  let  him  stand  forth,  and  tell  me  where,  then, 
has  this  Philip  drawn  his  strength,  if  not  from  the  very  bosom  of 

Athens  ?  ,  ,      i         •  *  •  . 

Ah '  but  surely,  if  abroad  we  have  been  weakened,  our  interior 
administration  is  more  flourishing.  And  what  are  the  evidences  of 
this  ?    A  few  whitewashed  ramparts,  repaired  roads,  fountains,  baga. 


SENATOEIAl.  DEMOSTHENES.  Jgl 

seilw  '    Turn  — turn  your  eyes  on  the  functionaries,  to  whom  we 
we  these  vaaitjes.    This  one  lr,as  passed  from  mise,;  t^  opuhnZ 
hat  one,  from  obscanty  to  splendor.    Another  has  buUt  for  Sf 
sumptuous  palaces,  wh,ch  look  down  upon  the  edifices  of  the  Se 
Indeed,  the  more  the  public  fortunes  have  declined,  the  more  C 
.ter,  ascended.    Tell  us  the  meaning  of  these  contracts!  Why 
hat  formerly  all  pro«T,ered,  while  now  all  is  in  jeopardy  ^  ^It  T 
because  formerly  the  feople,  itself,  daring  to  wage  war,  was  the  maL 
er  of  .ts  fi,nct,onaries,  the  soyoreign  dispenser°of  all  firor  ^ 
because  md.vidual  citizens  wore  then  glad  to  receive  from  the  Peonk 
honors,  magistracies  benefits.    How  Ire  the  times  chanled' 
favors  are  in  the  gift  of  our  functionaries  ;  everything  is  undo;  thtil 
^ntro;  while  you -you,  the  People !- enervated  fn  your  habitT 
mutilated  m  your  means,  and  weakened  in  your  allies  stand  1  ke 
so  many  supernumeraries  and  lackeys,  too  happy  f  yon  worthy 
chiefs  distribute  to  you  the  fund  for  the  theatre -if  they  thTow  to 
you  a  meagre  pittance!    And-la.t  degree  of  baseness  !- you  ki" 
the  hand  wmoh  thus  makes  largess  to  you  of  your  own !    Do  the 
not  imprison  you  within  your  own  wallsf  beguile  you  te  your  n^P 
tame  you  and  fashion  yon  to  their  yoke?    Never!  0 'never  oT  a 

unworthy  actions !  The  life  is  necessarily  the  image  of  the  heart  And 
your  degeneracy -by  Heaven,  I  should  not  be  suro'ised  if  I  in 

WeTil'ht'r  toTt^™'  ^^P"""  ^^'l'-  those'; 

nave  biought  you  to  it,  to  your  resentment !  To  be  candid  franknes, 
of  peech  does  not  every  day  gain  the  entrance  of  your  ears  and 
that  you  suffer  it  now,  may  well  be  matter  of  astonishment!  ' 

3.  A  DEMOCRACY  HATEFUL  TO  PHILIP.  OrV„,i  TranslCo.. 

e.Zf'^       PT'"™,  7™'  0  Athenians,  who  think  to  con- 

found  a  speaker  by  asking,^    What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ?  "    To  which 

testable  tact,  that  Philip  has  broken  your  treaties,  _  that  he  ha.« 
doc  bred  war  against  you.     Let  us  have  no  more  crimination  and 

our  Iibeity-our  neniocratic  system.  For  the  destruction  of  that 
all  his  snares  are  laid,  all  his  projects  are  shaped  '  And  in  thi« 
«  he  no  consistent  ?  He  is  well  aware  that,  thoCh  he  shou  d  sui 
lugate  all  the  rest  of  Greece,  his  conquest  ^uld  be  insetre  whik 
your  Democracy  stands.    He  knows  th'at,  should  he   xperience  on 


J  02  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

Of  those  reverses  to  which  the  lot  of  humanity  is  so  liaolc,  it  would 
be  int^  your  arm?  that  all  those  Nations,  now  forcibly  held  ua<ier  hii 
yoke,  would  rush.  Is  there  a  Tyrant  to  be  driven  back  ?  -  Athens 
in  tVo  field  !  Is  there  a  People  to  be  enfranchised  ?  -ho.  Alliens, 
prompt  to  aid  !  What  wonder,  then,  that  Philip  should  be  impatier^ 
while  Athenian  liberty  is  a  spy  upon  his  evil  days  ?^  Be  sure  U  mj 
Bountrymcn,  that  he  is  your  irreconcilable  foe  ;  that  it  is  against  Ath^ 
3113  that  he  musters  and  disposes  all  his  armaments;  against  Athene 
that  all  his  schemes  are  laid.  .     .    n  n^^^  4^ 

What,  then,  ought  you,  as  wise  men,  convmced  of  these  tiuttis,  w 
do  ^    Yon  ought  to  shake  off  your  fatal  lethargy,  contribute  accord- 
ing  to  your  means,  summon  your  allies  to  contribute  ^^^^'^^ 
ures  to  retain  the  troops  already  under  arms  ;  so  that,  if  Philip  has  an 
army  prepared  to  attack  and  subjugate  all  the  Greeks,  you  may  al  o 
have^  one  ready  to  succor  and  to  save  them.    Tell  me  not  of  the 
trouble  and  expense  which  this  will  involve.    I  grant      al^  -  Jj^t 
consider  the  dangers  that  menace  you,  and  how  much  you  wiU  ^e  the 
eainers  by  engaging  heartily,  at  once,  m  the  general  cause,  indeed 
Should  some  God  assure  you  that,  however  inactive  and  —^-^ 
you  might  remain,  yet,  in  the  end,  you  should  not  be  molested  by 
Philip,  still  it  would  be  ignominious,--be  witness.  Heaven. --It 
would  be  beneath  you  -  beneath  the  dignity  of  your  State -beneath 
The  glory  of  your  ancestors  -  to  sacrifice,  to  your  own  selfish  repose, 
the  interests  of  all  the  rest  of  Greece.    Rather  would  I  perish  than 
recommend  such  a  course  !    Let  some  other  man  urge  it  upon  you,  it 
he  will ;  and  listen  to  him,  if  yo.  can.    But,  if  my  ^-timents  are 
yours, -if  you  foresee,  as  I  do,  that  the  more  we  leave  Philip 
to  extend  his  conquests,  the  more  we  are  fortifying  an  enemy  whom 
sooner  or  later,  we  must  cope  with,  - why  do  you  hesitate  ?  What 
wait  you?    When  will  you  put  forth  jonr  strength  1    WW  t^e 
constraint  of  necessity?    What  necessity  do  you  wait?    Can  there 
be  a  greater  for  freemen  than  the  prospect  of  dishonor  ?    Do  you  wait 
for  that?     It  is  here  already;  it  presses  -  it  weiglis  on  us  now. 
Now,  did  I  say?   Long  since -long  since,  was  it  before  us,  face  to 
face    True,  there  is  still  another  necessity  in  reserve— the  necessity  ot 
blows  and  stripes!  Wait  you  for  ^/.m  ?    The  Gods  forbid ' 
The  very  words,  in  this  place,  are  an  indignity  ! 

4.  VENALITY  THE  RUIN  OF  GREECE. -W.  Original  Translation. 

If  ever,  0  men  of  Athens,  the  People  of  Greece  felt  the  rigor  of 
your  rule,  or  of  that  of  Sparta,  their  masters  were  at  least  their 
Sntrym;n.  But  where  is  our  just  indignation  against  Philip  a^^^^ 
ais  usurpations? -Philip,  who  is  no  Greek,  and  no  way  allied  to 
S^e"ph::ip,whois  not  even  a  Barbarian  of  illustrious  origin, 
kit  a  miserable  Macedonian,  born  in  a  country  where  not  even  a 
decent  Slav,  could  be  procured  !    And  yet,  has  he  not  extoted  hi» 


SENATOEIAL.  —  jESCHlNES 


r^urct»  of  outage  against  us?   Without  mentiomiig  too  Grecian 

SlTft  7.  .^"^  ^''^  ^  ™'  -von  himself  to  p?^ 

Bde  at  the  )'y*ian  games,  a  celebration  exclusively  national  V  And 

Ltrnf  tT'"'''  "^"T  f^T"^      '^'^^^  crowns 

Master  of  Ihermopyhe,  and  of  all  the  passes  of  Greece,  does  he  not 
hold  these  p-#^  by  his  garrisons  and  foreign  troops?  Does  he  not 
place  goverrws  over  Thessaly,  at  his  pleasure  ?  Has  he  not  wres^ 
fechmus  from  the  Thebans  ?  Is  he  not,  at  this  moment,  on  his  ma^ 
against  By™tmm  -  Byzantium,  the  ally  of  Athens  !    And  if  such 

And  no-v,  why  is  all  this  ?    For,  not  without  a  cause  could  Greece 

IS  h.  re.    Once,  0  Athenians,  in  the  hearts  of  all  our  People  a  senfi- 
ment  pr'-sided  which  is  paramount  no  more;  a  sentiment  wh^ch  to 
hTinI  "^"a  ^"'T  fr«c,  and  Iivincible 

min  andTfvTh  '  ^  .1°^°^  sentiment  has  brought  down 
ram  and  left  the  country  m  the  dust.    What  was  it  — this  senti 

N:    it'w^r"'"'  '  ft  -btle  policy  o?Sta?e 

No  It  was  a  universal  hatred  for  the  bribed  traitors,  in  L  pay  of 
hose  Powers,  seeking  to  subdue  or  dishonor  Greece!  Venali[y  w 
a  capital  oifence,  and  punished  with  the  extremest  rigor.  pZZn 
pa  lia^ion,  were  not  thought  of.  And  so,  orators  and  |enerals  ouTd 
not  with  impunity  barter  those  favorable  conjunctures  which  Fortune 
oftentim^^  presents  to  negligence  and  inactivity,  against  vigilance  and 

lyiants  and  Barbarians,  all  the  guarantees  of  liberty,  were  inac- 
ces^le  to  the  power  of  gold.    But  now  all  these  are  off  rid  for  Je 

mota  sThich      1'  ^Y'  ^  f  ™  l'^™      ™PO'-t-tion  of 

exhMt  r"^';";  f^/^'"*'"?.  »d       roying  Greece.    What  do  they 
exhibit  I    Envy,  for  the  recipient  of  base  bribes ;  derision,  should  he 
towal  Ms"""''  Pr*."'«l^°«l'J,I'«  be  convicted;  and  l-eseutmen 
co^ption  ^  ™>-'J.       ti-^  laxities  which  engender 

in  In  ISf '"jT^.i"'  ™       ™™™  '•««0"'-ces  of  war, 

monrt;,ffl.  ^  r%  !?y^"**g'=,^  paralyzed,  crushed,  by  an  infa, 
mons  traffic.  And  all  this  you  behold  with  your  own  eres,  and  my 
tetimony  m  regard  to  it  is  quite  superfluous  !  J-  '  my 

*  ~he™  ™™ce"d._^,.1.,„„«.  ^,^.„^ 

,«»r  f"^  ?™the„es  boasts  to  you,  0  Athenians,  of  his  Democratic 

be,  but  what  he  really  ,s ;  _  redoubtable  in  words,  impotent  m  deeds 
plausible  m  speech,  perfidious  in  action.    As  to  hiL  coLge  -  hThe 

fiy  the  laws  of  Athens,  the  man  who  refuses  to  bear  arms,  the  eowari 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

.he  desefter  of  his  post  in  battle,  is  excluded  from  all  share  in  tht 
piiMic  deliberations  — denied  admission  to  our  religious  rites,  m6 
rendered  incapable  of  receiving  the  honor  of  a  crown  Yet  now  it  i£ 
proposed  to  crown  a  man  whom  your  laws  expressly  disqualify 

Which,  think  you,  was  the  more  worthy  citizen,  — TheniLstocles.whc 
commarided  your  fleet  when  you  vanquished  the  Persian  at  Salamis,. 
or  Demosthenes  the  deserter  ?  —  Miltlades,  who  conquered  the  barba- 
rian^  at  Marathon,  or  this  hireling  traitor  ?— AristTdes,  suriiamed  the 
Just,  or  Demosthenes,  who  merits  a  far  different  suniame  ?  By  all 
the  Gods  of  Olympus,  it  is  a  profanation  to  mention  m  the  same  breath 
this  monster  and  those  great  men  !  Let  him  cite,  if  he  can,  one  among 
them  all  to  whom  a  crown  was  decreed.  And  was  Athens  ungrate- 
ful?  No'  She  was  magnanimous  ;  and  those  uncrowned  citizens  were 
worthy  of  Athens.  They  placed  their  glory,  not  in  the  letter  ot  a 
decree,  but  in  the  remembrance  of  a  country,  of  which  they  had  mer 
ited  well,  —  in  the  living,  imperishable  remembrance ! 

And  now  a  popular  orator  — the  mainspring  of  our  calamities  — a 
deserter  from  the  field  of  battle,  a  deserter  from  the  city  -  claims  ot 
us  a  crown,  exacts  the  honor  of  a  proclamation !  Crown  Imn  ?  Fro- 
claim  Ms  worth  ?  My  countrymen,  this  would  not  be  to  exalt  Demos- 
thenes  but  to  degrade  yourselves,  -  to  dishonor  those  brave  men  who 
perished  for  you  in  battle.  Crown  Mm/  ShaU  recreancy  wm 
what  was  denied  to  their  devotion?  This  would  mdeed  be  o  msult 
the  memory  of  the  dead,  and  to  paralyze  the  emulation  ot  the  iivmg . 

When  Demosthenes  tells  you  that,  as  ambassador,  he  wrested 
Byzantium  from  Philip,  —  that,  as  orator,  he  roused  the  Acarnanians, 
and  subdued  the  Thebans,  —  let  not  the  braggart  impose  on  you  He 
aatters  himself  that  the  Athenians  are  simpletons  enough  to  believe 
him  —as  if  in  him  they  cherished  the  very  genius  of  persuasion, 
instead  of  a  vile  calumniator.    But,  when,  at  the  close  of  his  defence, 
he  shall  summon  to  his  aid  his  accomplices  in  corruption,  imagine  then 
0  Athenians,  that  you  behold,  at  the  foot  of  this  tribune,  from  which  1 
now  address  you,  the  great  benefactors  of  the  Republic  arrayed  against 
them     Solon,  who  environed  our  liberty  with  the  noblest  institutions, 
—  Solon,  the  philosopher,  the  mighty  legislator,  —  with  that  benignity 
BO  characteristic,  implores  you  not  to  pay  more  regard  to  the  honeyed 
phrases  of  Demosthenes  than  to  your  own  oaths  your  own  laws. 
Aristides,  who  fixed  for  Greece  the  apportionment  of  her  contributions, 
fnd  whos;  orphan  daughters  were  dowered  by  the  People,  is  move^  to 
indignation  at  this  prostitution  of  justice,  and  exclaims:    ^  Thmk  on 
vour  fathers !    Arthmius  of  Zelia  brought  gold  from  Media  into  orrecce. 
Ld  for  the  act,  barely  escaped  death  in  banishment ;  and  now  Demo8. 
thenes,  who  has  not  merely  brought  gold,  but  who  received  it  as  the 
price  of  treachery,  and  still  retains  it,  —  Demosthene^  it  is  unblush 
S  proposed  to  invest  with  a  golden  crown  !  "    From  those  who 
fell  at  Marathon  and  at  Platoea-from  Theimstocles  -  from  the  very 
Bcpxilchres  of  your  ancestors  —  issues  the  protesting  groan  ot  conioui. 
nation  and  rebuke  1 


BENATORIAL.  DEMOSTHENES.  165 

ft  ^ORDmM.-Demostkenes  on  ae  Crown.   Lord  BrougUm^s  T '^^jUz<.^. 

^Isohines  became  a  sti4uous -idvoca  e  of<  oL,  on?  '^'1^'^  ^n^:'^"-  ^^'^  ^^^'^^  Philip, 
lately  in  favor  of  active  resi^l^^r  Af^^^^^^^^^^  be-in,^  as  resS 

irith  the  repairiiijr.  of  tlie  fortifications  of  (-Hp  p  ^^T"f^'  ^^^mosthenes  was  intrusted 

of  which  he  paid  three  fron  h    ow  Zrse     Pt*^  f^h  °^       ^-^'^       ^hi'-^^^"  talents, 

^oted  him.  ^Eschines  L  ntained  hat  nndP,  ^  proposed  that  a  ^^olden  crown  should  hi 
brought  a  suit  nomina  l^St  S^^^^  "^""T'^'        ^"^^^1.  and 

causes,  the  trial  was  delayed  ef.ht  yeafs  '  if  last  it  c^^^^^^  Demosthenes  From  various 
groat  effort.    But  Demosthenes  was  hTeskV;h1;     u  V>!  '^'^^^on;'  f«^cuser's  speech  was  a 

t*.rs,"  is  the  phrase  which  LoS  a  pHes  o  t^^^^  T^^'        ^^'^^^^'^^^  ^'^^ 

acquitted  by  a  considerable  majority/^sclS  wSt  Ctesiphon  wa* 

set  up  a  school  of  rhetoric.  He  once  read  thP  mUIf  .f  i^  ban  shment  at  Rlodes,  where  hs 
their  expressing  theii-  ad^-ation  of  It  hfsaS  '  ^^^^  Demosthenes  to  his  pupils.  Upon 

tbe  lion  hLmselt7"        ^-^"o^^  said,    What  would  you  have  thought,  had  you  heard 

Power,Th,fT'        f  •  ™P'°™g'  of  Heavenly 

mv  Sl^  1  <■  ."^"k  t'ndly  sentiments  which  I  have,  ti,ro„ghout 
m~  h  '  ."I"'  towards  this  country  and  eaeh  one  of  you, 
may  now  by  you  be  shown  towards  me  in  the  present  contest!  '  In 
two  respects  my  adversary  plainly  has  the  advantige  of  me.    First  we 

to  untler  1  f  f  •   ,  """^  unprovoked 

mt?,v  1    '  ™P'^*™«nt-    My  other  disadvantage  is,  the 

natural  proneness  of  men  to  lend  a  pleased  attention  to  invective  and 
accusation,  but  to  g,ve  little  heed  to  him  whose  theme  is  his  own  rin- 
dicaf  on.  To  my  adversary,  therefore,  falls  the  part  which  mTnisto' 
to  your  gratiacafon,  while  to  me  there  is  only  left  that  whic™rmay 
almost  say,  ,s  distasteful  to  all.    And  yet,  if  I  do  not  speai  of  myS 

"dwThoT  -^°f"f*'I^l'f  defenceless  against  his  chX" 

jnd  w  thout  proof  that  my  honora  were  well  earned     This,  therefore 

the  blame  of  my  dwe  Img  on  personal  topics  must  justly  rest  upon  him 
who  has  instituted  this  personal  Impeachment.  upon  mm 

At  least,  my  Judges,  you  will  admit  that  this  question  concerns  me 
Z  Z  ^.'^'t^'P''™'  ™d  Justifies  on  my  part  an  eaual  anxiety  To 
be  stripped  of  any  possession,  and  more  especially  by  an  enemy  is 
gnevous  to  b^r;  but  to  be  robbed  of  your  co'nfidenfe  and  e  teem!'-! 
of  all  possessions  he  most  precious, -is  indeed  intolerable.  Such 
th«n  being  my  stake  in  this  cause,  I  coniure  you  all  to  give  ear  to 
mv  defence  against  these  charges,  with  that  imnartialit/whicrth^ 

onTv  ^"J°"''-.tl'°^t'"™  which  he  fixed.  Z 

only  by  engraving  them  on  brazen  tables,  but  by  the  sanction  of  tha 
oaths  you  take  when  sitting  in  judgment;  because  he  perceived  that 
he  accuser  being  armed  with  the  advantage  of  speakino  fii^t  the 

t  £  c7!'?i^''"'*''  ^haJl  receive  with  ftvcr 

WI  tiTmll      ""^"^  last,  and,  lending  an  equal  ear  tolK>th  parti^ 
shaJ  I  thus  make  up  your  mmds  upon  the  whole  of  the  case. 

•Jnt,  ca  this  day,  when  I  am  about  to  render  up  an  account  as  it 

«  m  tie  outset,  implore  the  Gods,  and  in  you?  presence,  pour  out  to 


THE  STANDAKB  SPEAKEK. 


them  my  supplications,-  first,  to  grant  me  at  your  hands  the  same  bnA 
aess,  iu  this  conliict,  which  I  have  ever  borne  towards  our  country  anC 
01  of  you ;  and  next,  that  they  may  incline  you  all  to  pronounce  upoi 
this  Imperlchm^nt  the  decision  which  shall  best  consult  the  g  ory  of  th. 
SUte,  an''  •  -   .  jligious  obligations  of  each  mdmdual  J  udge ! 


7,  PUBLIC  SPIRIT  OF  AIHENUNS.— Demosllienes  on  the  Crown. 

tue  Athenians  never  were  known  to  live  contented  in  a  slavifil 
aiou^h  secure  obedience  to  unjust  and  arbitrary  power.  JNo.  Unl 
whole  history  is  a  series  of  gallant  contests  for  preeminence .  the 
"hole  period  of  our  national  existence  hath  been  spent  m  braving  dan- 
Irs  for  th=  sake  of  glory  and  renown.  And  so  highly  do  you  esteem 
S  onduct,  as  chaLteristic  of  the  Athenian  ^P^"^'^^^^'  '^^f'l 
your  ancestors  who  were  most  eminent  for  it  are  ever  the  most  fivvor. 

objects  of  your  praise.    And  with  reason:  for,  who  can  reflect 
'^thout  astonisLentf  on  the  magnanimity  of  those  men  w^o  resigned 
their  lands  gave  up  theL-  city,  and  embarked  m  their  ships,  latner 
han       a  the  bidding  of  a  Langer  ?    The  Athenians  of  that  day 
out  for  no  speaker,  no  general,  to  procure  them  a  state  of  easy 
kvery!   They  had  the  spirit  to  reject  even  life,  miless  they  were 
Sowed  to  enjoy  that  life  in  freedom.    For  it  was  a  principle  fixed 
Sy  in  o'i/breast,  that  man  was  not  born  to  his  parents  only,  but 
to  ^country.    And  mark  the  distinction.    He  who  regards  him»clf 
^toironly  tohis  parents  waits  in  passive  .submission  for  the  hour 
rf  Z  natural  dissolution.    He  who  considers  that  he  is  the  cMd  o? 
his  country,  also,  volunteers  to  meet  death  rather  than  behold  that 
S^^ntiT  Snced  tova.ssalage;  and  thinks  those  insults  and  disgrae^ 
which  he  must  endure,  in  a  stote  enslaved,  much  more  terrible  than 

^'thoM  I  attempt  to  assert  that  it  wa.  t  who  inspired  you  with  sen- 
timents  worthy  of  your  ancestors,  I  should  meet  the  just  resentment 
"7  hearer.    No  :  it  is  my  point  to  show  that  such  sentiments 
Tre  properi;  your  own;  that  they  were  the  sentiments  of  my  coun  rj 
loi  gTefo^  my  days.    I  claim  bit  my  share  of  merit  in  having  acted 
in  fuch  princi^esi  every  part  of  "y.  adminjstraUon.    He^  t^^^^^ 
condemns  every  part  of  my  administration, -he  who  directs  you  to  treat 
me  with  severity,  as  one  who  hath  involved  the  state  m  terrors  and  (^n- 
^rsT- while  hJ  labors  to  deprive  me  of  present  >^onor,  robs  you  of  ti« 
inclause  of  all  posterity.  For,  if  you  now  pronounce,  that,  a^  my  pub- 
KXthath^otbeL  right,  Ctesiphon  must  stand  condemned  ^ 
must  be  thought  that  you  yourselves  have  acted  wrong,  not  that  you 
present  state  to  the  caprice  of  fortune  -Bu  .  cannot  be  ■ 
No,  my  .iuntrymen,  it  cannot  be  that  you  hav% acted  w,„„g^, 
..n<iunteru '  daun-sr  bravely  for  the  liberty  and  safety  ot  all  Uieece. 
NoTi ^ear  it  by  t^e  spirii  of  our  sires  who  rushed  u^n  desr.- 
ton  at  Marathon! -by  those  who  stood  arrayed  at  Plataea.-b, 


SENATORIAL.  DEMOSTHENES. 


167 


J  hose  who  fought  the  sea-fight  at  Salamis  !  —  bj  the  men  of  AHomi 
siura '  — by  the  others,  so  many  and  so  brave,  who  now  rest  in  our 
pubho  sepulchres  !  —  all  of  whom  their  country  judged  worthy  of  the 
same  honor  ;  all,  I  say,  ^schlnes;  not  those  only  who  prevailed  no? 
tnose  only  who  were  victorious.  —  And  with  reason.  What  was  thp 
Jjrt  of  gallant  men,  they  all  performed.  Their  v^ccess  was  such  ae 
the  supreme  Kuler  of  the  world  dispensed  to  each 


8.  DEMOSTHENES  NOT  VANQUISHED  BY  ^IILIF. -Demostkenes  on  tke  Cr^ 
Lord  Brougham's  Translation.  ^'^um 

A  WICKED  thing,  Athenians,  a  wicked  thing  is  a  calumniator,  ever , 
-querulous  and  mdustrious  in  seeking  pretences  of  complaint  But 
this  creature  is  despicable  by  nature,  and  incapable  of  any  trace  of 
generous  and  noble  deeds;  ape  of  a  tragedian,  third-rate  actor,  spuri- 
ous  orator!  For  what,  ^schines,  does  your  eloquence  profit  the 
country?  You  now  descant  upon  what  is  past  and  gone;  as  if  a 
physician,  when  called  to  patients  in  a  sinking  state,  should  give  nr 
advice  nor  prescribe  any  course  by  which  the  disease  mwht  be  cured 
but,  after  one  of  them  had  died,  and  the  last  offices  wer°e  pcrformino 
to  his  remains,  should  follow  him  to  the  grave,  and  expound  how  the 
poor  man  never  would  have  died  had  such  and  such  things  only  been 
done.    Moonstricken  !  is  it  now  that  at  length  you  too  speak  out  ? 

As  to  the  defeat,  that  incident  in  which  you  so  exult  (wretch '  who 
should  rather  mourn  for  it), -look  through  my  whole  conduct,  and 
you  shall  find  nothing  there  that  brought  down  this  calamity  on  my 
country.  Consider  only,  Athenians  :  Never,  from  any  embassy  upon  ' 
which  you  sent  me,  did  I  come  off  worsted  by  Philip's  ambassadors; 
not  trom  Ihessaly,  not  from  Ambracia,  not  from  Illyria,  not  from  the 
Ihracian  kings,  not  from  the  Byzantians,  nor  from  any  other  qua-ter 
whatever,  —  nor  finally,  of  late,  from  Thebes.  But  wheresoever  \m 
negotiators  were  overcome  in  debate,  thither  Philip  marched,  and 
carried  the  day  by  his  arms.  Do  you,  then,  exact  this  of  me ;  and  ar€ 
you  not  ashamed,  at  the  moment  you  are  upbraiding  me  for  wcakn^s- 
to  require  that  I  should  defy  him  single-handed,  and  by  force  of  word^ 
alone  ?  For  what  other  weapons  had  I  ?  Certainly  not  the  lives  of 
men,  nor  the  fortune  of  warriors,  nor  the  military  operations  of  which 
you  are  so  blundering  as  to  demand  an  account  at  my  hands. 

But,  whatever  a  minister  can  be  accountable  for,  make  of  hat  the 
Strictest  scrutiny,  and  I  do  not  object.  What,  then,  falls  within  thia 
Jescription?  To  descry  events  in  their  first  beginnings,  to  cast  his 
Ior)k  forward,  and  to  warn  others  of  their  approach.  All  this  I  have 
done.  Then,  to  confine  within  the  narrowest  bounds  all  delays,  and 
backwaMness,  and  ignorance,  and  contentiousness,  -  faults  which  are 
inherent  and  unavoidable  in  all  States  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  to  pro- 
mote  unanimity,  and  friendly  dispositions,  and  zeal  in  the  oerformancfi 
•if  pubho  duty: -and  all  these  things  I  likewise  did.  nor  €an  anv 


THE  STANDARD  &PEAKER. 

man  point  out  any  of  them  that,  so  far  as  depended  on  me.  waa  iefl 

undone,  p  i^i 

If,  then,  it  should  be  asked  by  what  mean?  Phihp  for  the  m.)ST.  part 
succeeded  in  his  operations,  every  one  would  answer,  By  army ,  by 
his  largesses,  by  corrupting  those  at  ih  head  of  affairs.  V\  ell,  then, 
£  neither  had  armies,  nor  did  I  command  them  ;  and  therefore^  the 
aro-ument  respecting  military  operations  cannot  touch  me  ^say,  m  so 
far  as  I  was  inaccessible  to  bribes,  there  I  conquered  1  hilip  l^or, 
as  he  who  purchases  any  one  overcomes  him  who  has  received  tho 
price  and  sold  himself,  so  he  who  will  not  take  the  money,  nor  consent 
to  be  bribed,  has  conquered  the  bidder.  Thus,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
oerned,  this  country  stands  unconquered 

9    CATALINE  DENOUNCED.  —  Cwcro. 

£s  oratioS  aga^nl  Catiline  and  Verres  are  masterpieces  of  denunciatory  eloquence. 

How  far,  0  Catiline,  wilt  thou  abuse  our  patience  ?    How  long 
Bbalt  thou  baffle  justice  in  thy  mad  career?    To  what  extreme  wilt 
thou  carry  thy  audacity  ?    Art  thou  nothing  daunted  by  me  nightly 
watch,  posted  to  secure  the  Palatium  ?    Nothing,  by  the  city  guards 
Nothini,  by  the  rally  of  all  good  citizens  ?  Nothing,  by  the  assembling 
of  the  Senate  in  this  fortified  place  ?    Nothing,  by  the  averted  looks 
of  all  here  present  ?    Scest  thou  not  that  all  thy  plots  are  exposed  i 
—  that  thy  wretched  conspiracy  is  laid  bare  to  every  man  s  knowledge 
here  in  the  Senate  ?-  that  we  are  well  aware  of  thy  proceedings  of 
last  night ;  of  the  night  before  ;  —  the  place  of  meeting,  the  company 
convoked,  the  measures  concerted?     Alas    the  times!     Alas  the 
public  morals !    The  Senate  understands  all  this.    The  Consul  sees 
it     Yet  the  traitor  lives  !    Lives?    Ay,  truly,  and  confronts  us  here 
in  council,- takes  part  in  our  deliberations,  ---  and,  with  his  measur- 
ing  eye,  marks  out  each  man  of  us  for  slaughter!    And  we,  all  this 
*.hile,  strenuous  that  we  are,  think  we  have  amply  discharged  our 
duty  to  the  State,  if  we  but  shun  this  madman's  sword  and  ury  . 

Long  since,  0  Catiline,  ought  the  Consul  to  have  ordered  thee 
oxscution,  and  brought  upon  thy  own  head  the  rum  thou  haJ^t  bee^ 
meditating  against  others !  There  was  that  virtue  once  m  Rome,  t^t 
9  wicked  citizen  was  held  more  execrable  than  the  deadliest  foe.  We 
Uave  a  law  still,  Catiline,  for  thee.  Think  not  that  we  are  powerless, 
because  forbearing.  We  have  a  decree,  -  though  it  rests  among  our 
archives  like  a  sword  in  its  scabbard, -a  ^^^^^^l' ^7  f 't/ll^It 
^ould  be  made  to  pay  the  forfeit  of  thy  crimes.    And  I  « 

thee  to  be  instantly  seized  and  put  to  death,  I  make  just  doubt  v^hetlleT 
iJQ  good  men  would  not  think  it  done  rather  too  lato  than  any  mm 


SEHATOKIAL.  —  CICEKO.  |gp 

ao  cruelly  But,  for  good  reasons,  I  wUl  vet  defer  the  Wnw  I„„- 
since  deserved  Tken  will  I  doom  thee,  when^™  ^n  l  fold  »  S 

dear  tvhT Vh"  ''''  ''1'  t'-'  itwt'u^lt 

th.       S  r       ^?  "  'l^™  <!<'f™<l  thee,  live  '  But 

the  P'^-^^d -^""d  thee,  that  thou  shalt  .fot  stir  f  fco 

rdett  !L  r^w'  knowledge.     There  shall  be  eZ 

to  detect  thy  slightest  movement,  and  ears  to  catch  thy  wariest  whi^ 
n^tV^   '^^f''  tli™  «halt  not  dream.    The  darkness  of  niXSu 

f  ^""^  "ouosels  clear  as  noon-dav 

m  t ,  there  is  nothing  you  can  contrive,  nothing  you  can  proDose 
oothmg  you  can  attempt,  which  I  shaU  not  know,  hear  and  pCCTv 
antotand.  Thou  shalt  soon  l>e  made  aware  hat  I  am  eC  mo™ 
^u^^^:  State  thai  thoTS 

10.   CATIMNE  EXPELLED  Cicer„ 

B.i;"  'r^'?'  ^u"?''  '    We  have  driven  nim 

forth  drunk  with  fury  breathing  mischief,  threatening  to  revisit 
mth  fire  and  sword    He  is  gone;  he  is  fled;  he  has  escaned;  hTh^ 
broken  awa.y.    x,o  longer,  within  the  very  waUs  of  the  city,  shall  he 

jon.  Ihe  bad  citizen  is  now  the  avowed  traitor.  His  flight  is  the 
»ntesion  of  his  treason!  Would  that  his  attendants  had^Sot  been 
»  tew.     Be  speedy,  ye  companions  of  his  dissolute  pleasures:  bo 

Let  tlmln  "'''^  ^7^^°''  "'S'^'-  °°       A^relian  r  aS^ 

Let  him  not  languish,  deprived  of  your  society.  Haste  to  join  the 
ongenial  crew  that  compose  his  army;  Ms  army,  I  say,_frwho 

And  such  an  army  •  Outcasts  from  honor,  and  fugitives  from  debt  • 
SdSarratf* r ^  '  '"^"^^  ^^^^  ^-^^  --^^ 

Against  these  gallant  troops  of  your  adversary,  prepare  0  Roman, 
your  garrisons  and  armies;  and  first  to  tb^t-^maild  and  fettered 
gkdiator  oppose  your  Consuls  and  Generals ;  next,  a-rainst "Lt  mii- 
.We  outcast  horde,  lead  forth  the  strength  and  floCof  a^l  ry'' 
On  the  one  side  chastity  contends ;  on  the  other,  wanton-ncs.  hera 
pur^y.  (here  pollution;  here  integrity,  there  treachery Xepier 
ftere  profaneness;  here  constancy,  there  rage ;  here  honesty  S 

fortitude'  „™denTT"',*"-\'™V  eq^tJ  "-i^er  no^" 

tortitude,  prudence,  struggle  with  iniquity,  luxury  cowardice  rash- 

t^n  Z7  7"t  ''''  '        J^^tly.       cent  s    Hes  be. 

tween  well-grounded  hope  and  absolute  despail    I„  such  a  conflict 

^chcT,"-^"""""-"''^  "  faa.  would  not  the^mmortol  G  i  lZ^^^^ 
«ch  conspicuous  virtue  to  triumph  Tcer  such  complicated  viceT 


Y'j^  THE  Si'ANDARD  SPEAKER. 

11.  VERRES  DENOUNCED.  — Czcero. 

An  opinion  has  long  prevailed,  Fathers  that,  in  public  P^^^^^ 
of  wealth,  howe'ver  clearly  con^ted,  are  f  ways  ^f^^  ^ 

r^;ulttTto^sr^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

lite  ana  icuuus  a  ^.^^^^^^  g^^. 

TZ  his  cSes  it  sSoT  be  through  the  lack  of  a  criu>inal, 

or  0?  a  prrcutor,  but  through  the  failure  offhe  m.msters  of  justice 
to  do  the™  duty.  Passing  over  the  shameful  n-regulanties  of  hi 
youth,  what  ZI  the  qu^estorship  of  Verres  exhibit  b-t  one  — ^ 
;,.ene  of  villanies  ?  The  public  treasure  squandered,  a  Consul  stiipped 
nnd  Ltra^d  an  army  deserted  and  reduced  to  want,  a  province  robbed, 
2  cWu  indreLToJ rights  of  a  People  trampled  on!  But  hispra,- 
t^iX  n  sl  ly  has  crowned  his  career  of  wickedness  and  completed 
toismp  111  oiuiij  iicio  ^   r.  ,  .    .  TTiq  rlppisions  have  violated  ail 

^I'ask  now  Verres,  what  have  you  to  advance  against  these  charges  « 

^^.^XtZ  remotest  regioi.,  are  a  passport  to  protection,- 
4,^^ige^Koma„«^ 


SENATORIAI,   MIRABEAU.  271 

i^lrain  the  merciless  monster,  who,  in  the  confidence  of  his  richea 

And  shall  this  man  escape  ?    Fathers,  it  must  not  be  '    It  must 
be,  un  ess  you  would  undermine  the  very  foundations  of  sec  aHafetv 

nScTmr^^^^^  -born  at  Bignon,  in  France,  on  the  9th  of 

tion  offered  a  field  for  his  energ  es     BeinfrSted  a  the  f i!^.^  f  T^  ,  ^^'^^'^^ 
Ity  of  Provence,  he  hired  a  warehouse,  put  uS's  Sc^nttn      »  I'^l^''^"*^"'' 
and  was  elected  deputy  from  the  third  estaL  of  iTx    ^Tn"'"?  ^ 

of  his  eloquence  as  surprising  and  iiTesistible  "He  ir.J  ^""^"^P^'-^^^es  speak  of  the  effect 
.ty  of  a  master,  and  the  imperial  a^^  oTa  kTn..''    Person^^^^^  '""V"'  T^^'"^'"^ 

has  said,  in  a  letter  to  a  lady  who  had  not  seen  him  .^"^"^i?"^  '^'"^'^  "^^^  himself 

pox  and  you  may  form  some  notimi  ofiylatu^s  ~  «  h/wT  ^         >f "'"'''^'^  ^^'^'^  ^^^^W 

f;;s^t^-?isrjse's^^^^ 

of  speaking  from  his  seat,  as  in Tf  o"Slve         rf  ^.S  """^  i»stead 

.n  elevated  piatfo™,  or  p'nipit,  ^^^iS::^!^^^^;^;^;'^:;^^^;;^^  "'"'■"^ 

Z^r^:^  I  '  t  "P"'^"  ^'^^^  ^^^3^  bosom  of  the  aristoc 
racy,  it  has  been  at  him  preeminently  that  they  have  struck,  er^er  tn 

TnV;^^  ^/      ^l^v-tion  of  their  vi^ctim     So  p^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

only  by  peace.    Be  firm,  not  obstinate;  courageous  not  turbS^ 
free  not  undisciplined;  proiupt,  not  precipitate."  Stop  n  t  e"eet 


Y2  THE  STANDARr  SPEAKS31 

praters  only,  be  sure  that  the  vain  clamors,  the  wrathful  menaces, 
fniurioiLS  protestations,  — all  the  convulsions,  in  a  word,  of  expiring 
prejudices  -  shall  not  on  me  impose  !  hat !  shall  he  now  pause  m 
his  civic  course,  who,  first  among  all  the  men  of  France,  emphatically 
proclaimed  his  opinions  on  national  affairs,  at  a  time  when  circumstances 
were  much  less  urgent  than  now,  and  the  task  one  of  much  greatei 
peril  ?  Never  !  No  measure  of  outrages  shall  bear  down  my  patience, 
i  have  been,  I  am,  I  shall  be,  even  to  the  tomb,  the  man  of  the 
Public  Liberty,  the  man  of  the  Constitution  If  to  be  such  be  to 
become  the  man  of  the  People  rather  than  of  the  Nobles  then  woe 
to  the  privileged  orders!  For  privileges  shall  have  an  end,  but  tM 
People  is  eternal ! 

13   NECKER'S  FINANCIAL  PLAN,  Sept.  26,  1789. -Miraieaw.    Orig.  Translation. 

iiSiiilfSiii 

prodigious." 

The  minister  of  finance  has  presented  a  most  alarming  picture  ol 
the  state  of  our  afi-airs.  He  has  assured  us  that  delay  must  aggrava^. 
the  peril ;  and  that  a  day,  an  hour,  an  instant,  may  render  it  tatai. 
We  have  no  plan  that  can  be  substituted  for  that  which  he  proposes. 
On  this  plan,  therefore,  we  must  fall  back.  But,  have  we  time, 
tlemen  ask,  to  examine  it,  to  probe  it  thoroughly,  and  verify  its  caku- 
lations  ?  No,  no !  a  thousand  times  no  '  Hap-hazard  conjecture^j, 
msignificant  inquiries,  gropings  that  can  but  mislead,  -  these  aie  an 
that"  we  can  give  to  it  now.  Shall  we  therefore  miss  the  de.^^.e 
moment?  Do  Gentlemen  hope  to  escape  sacrifices  and  taxation  t>y  a 
plun^re  into  national  bankruptcy  ?  What,  then,  is  bankruptcy,  but  the 
most°cruel,  the  most  iniquitous,  most  unequal  and  disastrous  of  unposts  ? 
Listen  to  me  for  one  moment ! 

Two  centuries  of  plunder  and  abuse  have  dug  the  aoyss  which 
threatens  to  engulf  the  Nation.  It  must  be  filled  up  -  this  terrible 
chasm.  But  how  ?  Here  is  a  list  of  proprietors.^  Choose  from  the 
wealthiest,  in  order  that  the  smallest  number  of  citizens  may  be  sacri- 
ficed.  But  choose!  Shall  not  a  few  perish,  that  the  mass  of  the 
People  may  be  saved  ?  Come,  then !  Here  are  two  thousand  Nota- 
bles  whose  property  will  supply  the  deficit.  Restore  order  to  your 
L;ces,  peaL  a'nd  prosperity  to  the  Kingdom  !  Strike !  l^^ol^^ 
w-ithout  mercy,  these  unfortunate  victims !  Hurl  them  mto  the  abyss. 

You  recoil  with  dismay  from  the  contemplation  Inconsistent  and 
pusillanimous!  What!  Do  you  not  perceive  that,m  decreeing  a 
public  bankruptcy,  or,  what  is  worse,  in  rendering  it  inevitable  with 


eSSNATORIAL.  —  MIXABEATJ.  ^  73 

wt  decr«>mg  it,  you  di^race  yourselyes  by  an  act  a  thousand  time, 
more  criminal,  and -  folly  mconceiyable  !_  gratuitously  criminal 
For  m  the  shocking  alternative  I  have  supposed,  at  least  the  dTfieit 
«^ou  d  be  wiped  off.  But  do  you  imagine  that,  in  refusing  to  pay,  you 
shall  cease  t«  owe  ?^  Think  you  that  the  thousands,  th!  miluL  of 
men  who  will  lose  in  an  instant,  by  the  terrible  explosion  of  a  bank, 
ruptey,  or  its  re™lsion,  all  that  formed  the  consolation  of  their  liW 
and  perhaps  their  sole  means  of  subsistence,  -  think  you  that  thev 
will  leave  you  to  the  peaceable  fruition  of  your  crime?    Stoical  snell 
t.te  of  the  incalculable  evils  which  this  catastrophe  wouU  dtZe 
upon  France ;  impenetrable  egotists,  who  fancy  tlm^  these  convursioS 
of  despair  and  of  misery  will  pass,  as  other  calamities  have  palsed  - 
»d  all  the  more  rapidly  because  of  their  intense  violence, -are  you 
indeed  certain  that  so  many  men  without  bread  will  leave  you  tran- 
quilly to  the  enjoyment  of  those  savory  viands,  the  number  and  dell 
oacy  of  which  you  are  so  loth  to  diminish  ?    x\o !  you  will  perish 
and,  m  the  universal  conflagration,  which  you  do  not  shrink  from  kin: 
ling,  you  will  not,  m  losing  your  honor,  save  a  single  one  of  your 
detestable  indulgences.    This  is  the  way  we  are  goino;.    And  I Cy 
to  you,  that  the  men  who,  above  all  others,  are^nt-eresttd  in  the 
enforcement  of  these  saeriSees  which  the  Government  demands  are 
you  yourselves  !    Vote,  then,  this  subsidy  extraordinary ;  and  m^y  i? 
prove  sufficient  r    Vote  it,  inasmuch  as' whatever  doubts  you  iy 
entertan  as  to  the  means,  -  doubts  vague  and  unenlightened, -Z 
can  have  none  as  to  the  necessity,  or  as  to  our  inability  te  provide 

f  S      ''t- J  ^"'^f  bee-'e  the  cTrcuni- 

8  anees  of  the  country  admit  of  no  evasion,  and  we  shall  be  responS- 
ble  for  all  delays.  Beware  of  demanding  more  time  '  MisfoKe 
accords  it  never  Why,  Gentlemen,  it  wa^  but  the  othe  dfy  tat  "n 
reference  to  a  ridiculous  commotion  at  the  Palais-Koyal,.-a  Ouixot  c 
insurrection,  which  never  had  any  importance  save  in  the  feeble  iW 
mations  or  perverse  designs  of  certain  faithless  men,_you Tea  d  the£ 

e,a  e>       And  verily  there  was  neither  a  Catiline  nor  a  Rome 
neither  perils  nor  factions  around  you.     But,  to-day  banl-n,rcv' 
hi^us  bankruptcy,  is  there  before  /on,  and  threktl  t^;^:!?!!' 
yourselves,  your  property,  your  honor,-and  yet  you  deliberat^!  ^ 

lalimfiom  Miraieau.       "''"""^^  ASSEMBLY,  JiK.   9,  mo. - Orig inal  Tr^ 

t»,3,r^'  ''"['"^  yt'sterday,  those  words  which  you  have 

teught  Frenchmen  to  yxn\„^r^-orders,  privileges-m  on  my  ear- 
when  a  private  corporation  of  one  of  thf  ProvLes  of  tWs  Empire 


jy-J  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

BDoketo  you  of  the  impossibility  of  consenting  to  the  execution  M 
^ur  decrees,  sanctioned  by  the  King  ;  when  —  Joag|Stra^  , 
declared  to  you,  that  their  conscience  and  thetr  honor  toM^  the.t 
Sence  to  your  laws,  -  I  said  to  myself,  Are  these,  then,  dethroned 
^vercigns,  who,  in  a  transport  of  imprudent  but  generous  pride,  ar« 
Tddressfng  successful  usurpers  ?    No ;  these  are  men,  whose  arrogant 
teSofs  have  too  long  ten  an  insult  to  all  ideas  of  ^-al  orde. ; 
champions,  even  more  interested  than  audacious,  of  a  system  which 
has  cost  France  centuries  of  oppression,  public  and  prwate,  political 
Z  Za,  feudal  and  judicial,-and  whose  hope  is  to  make  us  regre 
and  revive  that  system.  The  people  of  Brittany  have  s"°"S 
sixty-six  representatives,  who  assure  you  that  the  new  Coji^  ™ 
crowns  all  their  wishes  ;  -  and  here  come  eleven  Judges  of  the  Prov- 
mue  who  cannot  consent  that  you  should  be  the  benefactors  of  their 
»tfnt7y     They  have  disobeyed  yo^r  laws;  and  they  pride  themseh-c« 
rlfr  disobeLnce,  and  believe  it  will  make  t\"- ^«"°[.f 
nosteritv.     No,  Gentlemen,  the  remembrance  of  their  folly  will  not 
^s  0  posterit;    What  avail  their  pigmy  efforts  to  brace  themselve 
^^a  nst  L  pro^re^s  of  a  Revolution  the  grandest  and  -o^* 
if  the  world's  history,  and  one  that  must  infallibly  ^l^g^  *^ 
the  slobe  and  the  lot  of  humanity  ?    Strange  presumption,  that  would 
arreft  Lrty  in  its  course,  and  roll  back  the  destmies  of  a  great 

^luJ  not  to  antiquated  transactions,  -  it  is  not  to  musty  treaties 
where  n  fraud  combLd  with  force  to  chain  men  to  the  car  of  ce  ton 
hau.'hw  masters, -that  the  National  Assembly  have  resorted,  in  their 
mvS&s  inio  popular  rights.  The  titles  we  offer  are  more^impr. 
ingbj  far;  ancient  as  time,  saered  and  ™P™f  ■'P'*)'^^^'^ 
What !     Mu.st  the  terms  of  the  marriage  VrNnHes  ti  ' 

Brittaav  make  the  People  of  that  Piovmce  slaves  to  the  Nobles  til 
fhe  colmmation  of  the'ages  ?  These  refractory  -^^if^^.^'^^^l 
the  statutes  which  "»«m«toMy  fix  our  f^^rs  of  legislation,  /m^^^ 
tahln  fix'     0,  how  that  word  tears  the  ved  from  their  innermost 

hothte'    H;w  would  they  like  to  have  abuses  immntalle^m 

th°  and  e^lTternal !  InLd,  what  is  lacking  to  their  cb^ity^-^ 
the  perpetuity  of  that  feudal  scourge,  which  unhapply  l^^^^Z^ 
iix  centuries')    But  it  is  in  vain  that  they  rage.  All  now  is  changed 

r  ctan7n?    There  is  nothing  immutable  save  Reason -save  the 
lerdgSty  of  the  People -save  the  inviolabdity  of  its  decrees! 

Original  Translation.  . 


SENATORIAL.  MIKABEAU.  27  fi 

Assembly  that  the  Nation  had  reoognized,  recovered,  reconquered  its 
ngnts  i  As  if  it  were  not  through  the  National  Assembly  that  the 
French  had,  m  truth  become  a  Nation !  As  if,  surrounded  by  the 
monuments  of  our  labors,  our  dangers,  our  services,  we  could  becom^ 
suspected  by  the  People  -  formidable  to  the  liberties  of  the  People  « 
As  If  the  regards  of  two  worlds  upon  you  fixed,  as  if  the  spectacle  of 
your  glory,  as  if  the  gratitude  of  so  many  millions,  as  if  the  verv 
pride  of  a  generous  conscience,  which  would  have  to  blush  too  deenk 

tobdieit^elf-werenotasiifficientguaranteeofyourfid^  FjZ 
(atriotism,  of  your  virtue !  j  j  -i  yuiu 

Commissioned  to  form  a  Constitution  for  Prance,  I  wiD  not  ask 
v^hcther,  wtli  that  authority,  we  did  not  receive  also  the  power  to^o 
all  that  was  necessary  to  complete,  establish,  and  confirm  that  Consti- 
tution.   I  will  not  ask,  ought  we  to  have  lost  in  pusillanimous  consX 

tl-TuZ  "Bur?'r 'if  would  have  rreived 

ner  death-blow?  But  if  Gentlemen  insist  on  demanding  when  and 
how,  from  simple  deputies  of  bailiwicks,  we  became  all  at  once  tran^ 

ZZt  TC^fT"^  ^  ^^P'^'  I*       »  that  da"  Xn, 

hndmg  the  hall  where  we  were  to  assemble  closed,  and  bristlin^  aiTd 
^Uuted  with  bayonets,  we  resorted  to  the  first  plice  whe  we 
reunite  to  swear  to  perish  rather  than  submit  to  such  an  Trder  of 
things  1  That  day,  if  we  were  not  a  National  ConventL  we  belm, 
one;  became  oue  for  the  destruction  of  arbitrary  power,  Ld  for  the 
defence  of  the  rights  of  the  Nation  from  all  violence.  The  strivil 
of  Despotism  which  we  have  auelled  ths  r„.,.;i<,  .-^^ ''^""ngs 
averted,  the  violence  which  wl^arSessed, hU  u^^^^^^^^^^ 
Our  successes  have  consecrated  them  ;  the  adhesion,  so  often  renewed 
InedTVf  Empire,  has  legitimized  and  sanctified  them  Su  n- 
Pont,  !-  •  ?  •'^.t?  in-esistible  tocsin  of  necessity,  our  National 
Convention  is  above  all  imitation,  as  it  is  above  all  auiL-^L     n  • 

save  hi  crn/rff"      "T"'^'  of  thit'R«man^  who,  to 

~r7w:ro&orhrr^^^^ 

.une  e.ac.ed  of  him  the  oath  that  he^adCScl^Ithosi:^^ 

iurf  oV  of  T™'*'  alternati™  oS 

)ury  or  of  an  embarrassing  avowal.    "Swear"  o^u  ,1,0  t  -1,^ 

•'that  you  have  observed  the  laws."  swel- "  rfnlied^he  ^ 
«^n,-"I  swear  that  I  have  saved  the  K^tblic  ""^  Genttmrf 
»w<ar  that  you  have  saved  France  !  uentiemen,  I 

18.  ON  BEING  SUSPECTED  OF  RECEIVINO  OVTJKTTTii  ■=  » 

opronrts'tf        'T/'T"  f'Pto™*  the  reconciliation  of  poIi>icaJ 


yjQ  THE  STA'^DARD  SPEAKER. 

partiam  rivalry,  ttie  machinations  of  intrigue  and  malevolence  F« 
Srht  days,  now,  it  has  been  given  out  that  those  members  of  the 
Nitional  Assembly  in  favor  of  the  provision  requirmg  the  coneurrenc* 
of  the  royal  will  for  the  exercise  of  the  right  of  peace  and  war  ar« 
parricides  of  the  public  liberty.  Kumors  of  perfidy  of  corruption,  have 
been  bruited.  Popular  vengeance  has  been  invoked  to  enforce  the 
tyranny  of  opinion;  and  denunciations  have  been  uttered  as  if,  on  - 
subject  invJing  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  question  affect, 
L  the  organiltion  of  society,  persons  could  not  dissent  w.  hout  a 
crime.  What  strange  madness,  what  deplorable  mfatuation  is  this. 
wWch  thus  incites  aglinst  one  another  men  whom -let  debate  run 
never  so  high -one  common  object,  one  mdestructible  sentiment  of 
patrotism,  ought  always  to  bring  together,  a  ways  to  reumte ;  bu 
^ho  thus  substitute,  alas!  the  irascibility  of  self-love  for  devotion  to 
the  public  good,  and  give  one  another  over,  without  compunction,  to  the 
hatred  and  distrust  of  the  People!  ij  v  ™  w„„ 

And  me,  too -me,  but  the  other  day,  they  would  have  borne  ii 
triumph  ;  -  and  now  they  cry  in  the  streets.  The  gkeai  teeasos  op 
Z  Co4t  of  MmiB.Av!    I  needed  not  this  les^n  to  teach  me 
how  short  the  distance  from  the  Oap^tolto  the  Tarpe^an  Sock  ' 
But  the  man  who  battles  for  reason,  for  country,  does  not  so  easdy 
admit  that  he  is  vanquished.    He  who  has  the  consciousness  that  he 
deserves  well  of  that  country,  and,  above  all,  that  he  ,s  ^lU  able  to 
.ervehcr;  who  disdains  a  vain  celebrity  and  F>^««7'^"t''^l«  f 
above  the  successes  of  the  day ;  who  would  ^P«/ t^e  . truth,  and  kbo 
for  the  public  weal,  independently  of  the  iiuctuations  of  popular 
opinion,  1  such  a  man  carries  in  his  own  breast  the  recompense  of  h^ 
Bervicc  ,  the  solace  of  his  pains,  the  reward  of  his  dangers    The  har- 
vest  he  ooks  for  -  the  destiny,  the  only  destnij,  tc  ^^ich  a^pir^ 
_  is  that  of  his  good  name ;  and  for  that  he  ,s  content  to  tiust  to 
time,  -  to  time,  that  incorruptible  judge,  who  dispenses  justice  to  all . 

Let  those  who,  for  these  eight  days  past,  have  been  •g"»''"% 
dieting  my  opinion,  -  who,  at  this  moment,  ««l™°.f  ;!  »/ 
without  compehendingit,-let  them  chaise  me  if  they  wiU^  with 
beginning  to  offer  incense  to  the  impotent  idols  I  have  ovcrtuined- 
wii  being  the  vile  stipendiary  of  men  whom  I  have  never  ceased  fc 
combat ;  let  them  denounce  as  an  enemy  of  the  Revolution  A»«  who 
at  least  has  contributed  so  much  to  its  cause,  that  his  safety,  it  not  his 
glory,  lies  in  its  support ;  -  let  them  deliver  over  to  the  rage  of  a 
.  Li;ed  Pecple  him,  who,  for  twenty  years,  has  warred  against 
oppression  in  ill  its  forms; -who  spoke  to  F-^enchmen  of  L te  t^,  of 
a  Constitutfon,  of  Kcsistance,  at  a  time  when  his  vile  .«>l"">»"^tor 
were  mucking  the  milif  of  Courts,  -  bving  on  those  dominant  abuse 
which  he  dJ^iounced  :  -  what  matters  it  ?    These  underhand  attack 
Bhall  not  step  me  in  my  career.    I  will  say  to 
if  you  can,  and  then  calumniate  to  your  hearts  content!    A"^  now  I 
relnter  the  lists,  armed  only  mth  my  principles,  and  a  stcadfiist  con. 
Hcience. 


SENATOKIAL.  —  MIRABEAU.  J  77 

i..  lULOQlUM  ON  FHANKLIN,  Juke  11  l7Qft  . 

T.^  .     ,     ,  '      ^       1790.-i^f^.«ftea^^.    Original  Translation. 

wlioir.  the  History  of  Emnires  nn,!  t!,»  n;J,  "<"'a^"<iini  —  the  man 
/•or-oeoupied,  ii  canno  Tde^iel  ^  History  of  Science  alike  contend 

were  great  n  their  funer-il  e„lnm„=  ?  °'  those  who 

otiqaefte  of  Courts  prescribed  hvS'  "?  ^"^  '""■'^J?''  *e 
efalrs  only,  shon.ISnf  asTnrT*  he  eTbtZf  .Hrf       ■  ^T" 

^^^^/rtri^ntl^^--r^^^^^^^^^^ 

.mite  in  this  reli Joi       1  ^T-      "°*  ^'"""'^      Gentlemen,  to 

dered,  at  oncet^rr^L  /'"C^'atdto'  'T?«^'  f  "'^'^ 
contributed  most  largely  to  theTr  ^ind.l^  the  philosopher  who  has 
Antiquity  would  haye  e4td  altL  "^^^^^^^^  hroughout  the  world! 
who,  to  promote  the  Zl)fi  f  this  great  and  powerful  genius, 
Hea;e«sa'ndThe  E  rthr  h—rf^^^^^^^^  comprehending  bofh  the 
the  bolt  from  the  dL  and  ?L        !  ''^  ^"''tcb 

enlightened  and  free,  owes  arLt  the  f  T 
brance  and  regret  to  onTof  the  /l^*  •  f^r'''^«?'™'°*''''^"«^^ 
united  cause  of  pMosonhy  td^Cf  ^^''^d  'be 

decreed  that  the'^  Snlriiifc/  1"=  ™w 

days,  for  Benjamin  FrSin,  ^  three 

oi7;H;o„"7pt:i"':  /Sn"'"^^^  "^^^^ 

dedare  r       -^^on^an,  is  the  national  religion  Tn 

i^tlL^^^^^^^^^^  ^^_J0  dishonor  ?t  in  S 

-na-iLttnl^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

mte  Being.  WolTf  unLtnnd    kT^^^^^  ""^  t^''  I«fi- 

conscience?  Tno  moTet  r''  ;  I''  ''^  *  "''tiona) 

fa  not  veritably  S  i^so  ?ar  T'"''"''  '  ^ 

»  Nation.    IfVe  e  Ze      5"  ='.**''<'^ed  to  the  religion  of  . 

t^ere  agreed  in  profesrin  '  it   t  wo  T  T"  *^  'n^" 

would  ha™  theSe  rfeitil!t  f    r  '^^^  t'>''t  each 

be  hhnself  religiZ  w^ T  X'^l/f  ^  \^  ""'^  should 

only  as  he  wouFd  teledded  toTat  unlw  "  '  r'* 

the  ^hola  human  race  w  re  to  ab  u'e  Tt  In'd  f '°  f'  u'^^^^'' 

point  we  consider  rpliVinn      *      T     .  ^^"^  whatever 

Son  insigSnt'orla.*"        "  '^"'^'"^  >'  "  desig™. 


^^g  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 

Would  it  be  -as  the  arbiter  of  its  truth,  or  as  the  judge  of  its  apri- 
iude  to  form  good  citizens,  that  the  Legislature  would  make  a  religioii 
oonstitutiouar?  But,  in  the  first  place,  are  there  natwnal  truths 
In  the  second  place,  can  it  be  ever  useful  to  the  public  happme.s  K 
fetter  the  conscience  of  men  by  a  law  of  the  State  ?  The  law  umte. 
HS  only  in  those  points  where  adhesion  is  essential  to  social  organiza^ 
tion.  Those  points  belong  only  to  the  superficies  of  our  being,  in 
thought  and  conscience  men  remain  isolated ;  f  ^  their  associa  ic  3 
leavS  to  them,  in  these  respects,  the  absolute  freedom  of  the  state 

''^  Whar'a  spectacle  would  it  be  for  those  early  Christians,  who  to 
escape  the  sword  of  Persecution,  were  obliged  to  consecrate  their  altars 
in  caves  or  amid  ruins,-what  a  spectacle  would  it  be  for  them^o^^^ 
they  this  day  come  among  us,  and  witness  the  glory  with  which  heir 
despised  religion  now  sees  itself  environed ;  the  templeB,  the  lo  ty 
steeples  bearfng  aloft  the  glittering  emblem  of  their 
gelic  cross,  whfch  crowns  the  summit  of  all^  the  departments  of  this 
great  Empire!  What  a  transporting  sight  for  those  who,  m 
descendino-  to  the  tomb,  had  seen  that  rehgion,  during  t^^^ir  lives 
honored  ?nly  in  the  lurking-places  of  the  forest  and  the  desert 
Methinks  I  hear  them  exclaim,  even  as  that  stranger  of  the  old  time 
exclaimed,  on  beholding  the  encampment  of  the  People  of  Ood  - 

"How  GOODLY  ARE    tSy    TENTS,   0  JaCOB,  AND    THY  TABERNACLES, 

O  Israel  '  "  Calm,  then,  ah !  calm  your  apprehensions,  ye  ministers 
of  the  God  of  peace  and  truth  !  Blush  rather  at  your  mcendiary 
exaggerations,  and  no  longer  look  at  ^^^^f  f  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
through  the  medium  of  your  passions.  We  do  not  ask  it  of  you  to 
take  an  oath  contrary  to  the  law  of  your  heart ;  bu  we  do  ask  it  of 
yot  in  the  name  of  that  God  who  will  judge  us  all,  not  ^  confound 
human  opinions  and  scholastic  traditions  with  the  sacred  and  mvio labl 
rules  of  the  Gospel.  If  it  be  contrary  to  morality  to  act  again, 
one's  conscience,  it  is  none  the  less  so  to  form  on^s  —nee  after 
false  and  arbitrary  principles.  The  obhgation  to  form  and  enlighU^n 
one's  conscience  is  anterior  to  the  obligation  /of  ^  one's  consc  cn^^^ 
The  greatest  public  calamities  have  been  caused  by  men  who  believed 
they  were  obeying  God,  and  saving  their  own  souls. 

19  TO  THE  FRENCH  PEOPLE,  im.- Original  Translation  from  Vergniaud 
Veriniaua,  fne  most  eloquent  orator^  the  cel« 
•     Kh"nre^^^^^^^^^  His  speec.es  were  a,.a.e 

wxefully  preiiared  beforehand 

Preparations  for  war  are  manifest  on  our  frontiers;  and  we  hear 
of  renewed  plots  against  liberty.  Our  armies  reassemble ;  mi gh^ 
movements  agitate  the  Empire.  Martial  law  having  become  mves- 
Try  it  lias  seemed  to  -xs  just.  But  we  have  succeeded  only  m  bm. 
dish  ng  for  a  moment  the  thunderbolt  m  the  eyes  of  rebc41mn 
wxiction  of  the  King  has  been  refused  to  our  decioos.    The  prme«i 


SEMATORIAt.  VEKGNIAITD. 

"  ^'^  t'^''  .inspirators  againrt 

TJr/      .P^?      *f ,  They  furnish  tl,e^  ^ 

notTrJf  ^  hem  gold,  arms,  liorses,  and  munitions,  h 

not  the  patience  suicidal  which  tolerates  all  this?  Doubtless  voa 
navo  renounced  all  projects  of  conquest;  but  you  have  notTom  sed  to 
endure  such  insolent  provocations.  You  have  shaken  off  fhe  yoke  of 
your  yrants;  but  U  was  not  to  bend  the  knee  to  foreign  des^ts 

But  beware!  You  are  environed  by  snares.  They  seek  to  diiv« 
m,  by  disgust  or  lassitude,  to  a  state  of  languor^^l  to  your 
tl"^'  ''"•'^''t'™-    They  seek  to  separate  ™u 

i  smbi;    tbL""""^™  '  of  calumny  Igainst  the\Yatio^^" 

ABsimbly,  they  incnmmate  your  Revolution  in  your  eyes 
beware  of  these  attempts  at  pr  nic  !    Repel,  indignantly  theTe  imBos' 
tors,  who,  while  they  affect  a  hypocritical  zeal  for  the  Consti  Xn 

w"/-,  r  T?  """"to-revolution!  The  monarchy?  It  is  the 
The  &nie   b  -^hat  is  it  but  taition,  feudality 

f  litetv  I'  tZ  -tTfT":'' P""*  *he  sublime  Lspiration 
State?  Whnt  W  K  '  ^""^  ^"'"'S"  ^^'''""^'^  'he  midst  of  the 
Private  flune,  ^  'If  ""'P  ''''h  your  assignats,  youx 

Cism  and  of  V    '  'h?  furies  of 

lanaticism  and  of  vengeance,  —  assassinations,  pillage    and  inoen 

bood'"'."T'"  '^"^^  ^■'^  <'«='th,  disp;tLg,t;er  rive  of 

grandeur,  the  oth"  4  IblenL  r  ^i.      1  ' 
for  servitude  !    Th.  noMitv'    Ih  ^1^  J''""^' 

tut^ilf'  *he  success  of  these  conspiracie" 

that  Europe  ,s  now  put  in  motion  against  you!  Be  it  so '  Bv^ 
«)Iemn  declaration  must  these  guilty  hopes^be  crushed     Yes  the 

c'LSrwmT  i  ^T^'  ""f?''^"  attachment  to  tt 

constitution,  will  be  buried  beneath  its  ruins,  before  they  consent  tn  » 

reassured !    They  would  raise  the  Nations  against  you  •  —  thev  will 
mse  only  princes     The  heart  of  every  People  s  with  you  ^fi 
vl   Tf  '^h.ch  you  embrace,  in  defendhig  your  own  E.el 
abhorred  be  war !    It  is  the  greatest  of  the  crime^s  of  men'-  ill 

tZ  t  rl'lVtoT     '""T'^  •  arTirisi^t  ly 

Lk!!;       '  T  ,  *°  'he  course  of  your  destinies.    Who  can  foiesi 

20^ AGAINST  THE  TEHROP.ISM  OF  THE  JACOEINS,  1792.-/..   Ori,.  Tra^ 

IS  W  tw"^""^  ^'''i''^'''  P'^'r^     ^^11  themselves  free.    Alas!  ii 

fC^Z  VZT^""^"'^  *>^--*«'  but  they  an 

Slaves  3f  men  the  most  vile,  and  of  wretche.  ihe  most  dct>^4]e 


18(^  THE  STA^DAKD  SPEAKER. 

men  who  continue  to  imagine  that  the  Revolution  has  ijeen  made  fol 
themselves  alone,  and  who  have  sent  Louis  XVI.  to  the  Temple,  M 
M'der  that  they  may  be  enthroned  at  the  Tuileries !  ^  It  is  time  tp 
oreak  these  disgraceful  chains  —  to  crush  this  new  despotism.  It  is 
time  that  those  who  have  made  honest  men  tremble  should  be  made 
to  ti^mible  in  their  turn.  I  am  not  ignorant  that  they  have  pon'ardfi 
at  their  service.  On  the  night  of  the  second  of  September  —  that 
night  of  proscription!— did  they  not  seek  to  turn  them  against 
several  deputies,  and  myself  among  the  number  ?  Were  we  not 
denounced  to  the  People  as  traitors  ?  Fortunately,  it  was  the  People 
into  whose  hands  we  fell.  The  assassins  were  elsewhere  occupied. 
The  voice  of  calumny  failed  of  its  effect.  If  voice  may  yet  make 
itself  heard  from  this  place,  I  call  you  all  to  witness,  it  shall  not 
cease  to  thunder,  with  all  its  energy,  against  tyrants,  whether  of  high 
or  low  degree.  What  to  me  their  ruffians  and  their  poniards  ?  What 
his  own  life  to  the  representative  of  the  People,  while  the  safety  of 
the  country  is  at  stake  ?  . 

When  William  Tell  adjusted  the  arrow  which  was  to  pierce  the 
fatal  apple  that  a  tyrant  had  placed  on  his  son's  head,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Perish  my  name,  and  perish  my  memory,  provided  Switzerland  may 
be  free  ! "  And  we,  also,  —  i^e  will  say,  "  Perish  the  National  Assem- 
bly  and  its  memory,  provided  France  may  be  free  !  "  t  Ay,  perish 
the  National  Assembly  and  its  memory,  so  by  its  death  it  may  save 
the  Nation  from  a  course  of  crime  that  would  affix  an  eternal  stigma 
to  the  French  name  ;  so,  by  its  action,  it  may  show  the  Nations  of 
Europe  that,  despite  the  calumnies  by  which  it  is  sought  to  dishonor 
France,  there  is  still  in  the  very  bosom  of  that  momentary  anarchy 
where  the  brigands  have  plunged  us— there  is  still  m  ojj^  country 
some  public  virtue,  some  respect  for  humanity  left !  Perish  the 
National  Assembly  and  its  memory,  if  upon  our  ashes  oui  more  lortu 
nate  successors  may  establish  the  edifice  of  a  Constitution,  which  shall 
assure  the  happiness  of  France,  and  consolidate  the  reign  ot  hberty 
and  equality ! 

 «  — 

21.  AGAINST  WAR,  Jan.  13,  1192.— Robespierre.    Original  Translation. 

Shall  we  await  the  orders  of  the  War  Office  to  overturn  Thrones  I 
Shall  we  await  the  signal  of  the  Court  ?  In  this  war  against  aristo- 
crats and  Kings,  shall  we  look  to  be  commanded  by  these  same  Patn- 
cians,  these  eternal  favorites  of  Despotism?    No!    Alone  let  us 

•  Pronounced  Tweelree.  .  ,     .,,  „,,^v,„ 

♦  Tlie  deputies  here  rose,  as  by  an  unanimous  impulse,  and  ''^Pf      ™  f 
iiasm,  the  oath  of  Vcrgniaud.    The  audience,  who  occupied         f ^ 
mingled  their  voices  with  those  of  the  deputies     To  appreciate  ^^  ly  ^^  '^'^nt 
eloquence  of  this  speech,  it  should  bo  reme.ube.-cd  tha  1  -m^o  waj  f 
Tirtrally  under  the  sanguinary  dictatorship  of  the  -iMob  n  Club  ,  -i"'!  '^'^^  ck 
proscri/tions  and  massacres  threatened  to  involve  al  v;ho  did  nut  acquiesce  ii  tho« 

«asures.  Vergniaud  soon  afterward  paid  the  penalty  ol  Ins  courage ;  and  jusUlie- 
his  bold  words  by  a  bold  death  on  the  scallold. 


eUta-^OKlAL.  EOBESPIEEEE. 


185 


mrch  Oar  own  leaders  let  us  be  !  If  it  is  the  war  of  the  Court 
Shat  we  mus  accept, -the  war  of  the  Ministers,  of  Patriciaas  sE 
mng  patriotism  -  then,  alas!  far  from  anticipa  ing  iJe  eXncC 
ment  ot  the  worhl,  I  shall  not  even  belie™  that  your  own  Hb^rrvl 
secure.  Our  wisest  course  now  is  to  defend  it  against  Zr^^d  Jot 
those  internal  enemies  who  would  beguile  you  wfth  these  herdc  m„ 
«ons.  I^veproved  that  liberty  has  no' more  mortal  enemy  th^ 
ffai.     I  have  proved  that  war,  recommended  by  men  of  doubtfid 

Suton   • ff,  but  a  meansV  annihilate  tte 

constitution  — but  the  issue  of  a  plot  against  the  Revolution  Tc 
favor  these  projects  of  war,  under  whateve?  pretext,  is,  then  to  ioin  , 
conspiracy  against  the  Kevolution.    To  recommend  co'nfiden'cf  in  "h 
Executive, -to  invoke  public  favor  in  behalf  of  the  Generals -  is 

:«:rgy'°ote:t"°" 

If,  then,  the  moment  of  emancipation  for  the  Nations  be  not  vet 
arrived,  we  should  have  the  patience  to  await  it.  If  th  s  t„  "Itfon 
be  destmed  only  to  struggle  on  in  the  slough  of  those  vifcs  wt  re 
»es,»tism  has  plunged  it,  -  if  the  theatre  of  our  RevoTu  ioT  be 
loomed  to  present  to  the  world  no  other  spectacle  than,  thl  m  erabk 
contests  of  perhdy  and  imbecility,  egotism  and  ambition,  -  th™  to  the  ' 
nsing  generation  will  be  bequeathed  the  t^k  of  purifyin.  the  noUuted 
earth  Tha  generation  shall  bring -not  the  peace  of  Dcspotlm 
ZsnLX::iTr  f  ^ut  the  torch'  and  the  sXd  to 

consume  Ihrones,  and  exterminate  oppressors  !  Thou  art  not  alien  to 
thee  dT'f,  '         'hee  we  brave  thel  storms  f^ 

thee  defy  the  plots  of  tyranny.    Disheartened  ofttimes  by  the  obstl 

TaJyit'of liberty,  '"^^  »f  t^e 

mi  no  secui-ityla  principle  which  is  not  Si  on  befe?S  OodLtl """^  »"  P"""*.- 

«»^e  courage  to  resist  tyranny,  greater  contempt  fc,  pleasurTw 


182 


THE  STANDARD  BPEAKER. 


death  ?  You,  who  regret  a  virtuous  friend,  can  you  end  iro  th» 
fhought  that  h:'=t  noblest  part  has  not  escaped  dissolution  ?  You.  who 
weep  oxGv  the  remains  of  a  child  or  a  wife,  are  you  consoled  by  the 
thought  that  a  handful  of  dust  is  all  that  is  left  of  the  beloved  object  ^ 
You^the  unfortunate,  who  expire  under  the  stroke  of  the  assassin,  is 
Qot  your  last  sigh  an  appeal  to  the  justice  of  the  Most  High  ?  Inno 
cence  on  the  scaflFold  makes  the  tyrant  turn  pale  on  his  triumphal  car. 
Would  such  an  ascendency  be  felt,  if  the  tomb  levelled  alike  the  op- 
pressor and  the  oppressed  ?  The  more  a  man  is  gifted  with  sensibility 
and  genius,  the  more  does  he  attach  himself  to  those  ideas  which 
aggrandize  his  being  and  exalt  his  aspirations  ;  and  the  doctrine  oi 
Eien  cf  this  stamp  becomes  the  doctrine  of  all  mankind.  A  great  man, 
a  veritable  hero,  knows  his  own  worth  too  well  to  experience  compla- 
cency  in  the  thought  of  his  nonentity.  A  wretch,  despicable  in  his  own 
eyes,  repulsive  in  those  of  others,  feels  that  nature  but  gives  him  his 
deserts  in  annihilation. 

Confusion  to  those  who  seek,  by  their  desolating  doctrines,  to  extin- 
guish this  sublime  enthusiasm,  and  to  stifle  this  moral  instinct  of  the 
People,  which  is  the  principle  of  all  great  actions !  To  you.  Repre- 
sentatives of  the  People,  it  belongs  to  hasten  the  triumph  of  the  truths 
we  have  developed.  If  we  lack  the  courage  to  proclaim  them,  then 
deep,  indeed,  must  be  the  depravity,  with  which  we  are  environed 
Defy  the  insensate  clamors  of  presumptuous  ignorance  and  of  stubborn 
hypocrisy !  Will  posterity  credit  it,  that  the  vanquished  factions  have 
carried  their  audacity  so  far  as  to  charge  us  with  lukewarmness  and 
aristocracy  for  having  restored  to  the  Nation's  heart  the  idea  of  tl\e 
Divinity,  the  fundamental  principle  of  all  morality?  Will  it  be 
believed  that  they  have  dared,  even  in  this  place,  to  assert  that  we 
have  thereby  thrown  back  human  reason  centuries  in  its  progress  ? 
0,  be  not  surprised  that  the  wretches,  leagued  against  us,  are  so 
eager  to  put  the  hemlock  to  our  lips  !  But,  before  we  quaff  it,  we 
will  save  the  country  ! 

13.  JIOBESPIERRE'S  LAST  SPEECH.  —  Ong-maZ  Translation. 
The  day  rtfl'jr  this  speech,  —  delivered  July  28th,  1794,  and  addressed  to  an  assembly  bent  ou 
bis  destructioia,-Robespierre  was  executed,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-five,  under  circumstances 
of  accumulated  horror.  His  fate  is  a  warning  to  rulers  who  would  cement  even  he  best  ot 
Governments  iviihiblood.  Robespierre's  character  is  still  an  enigma  •,  some  rega.  duig  h.m  an 
an  hocest  feaUic,  and  others  as  a  crafty  demagogue.  Perhaps  the  traits  of  either  predoml. 
Sted  at  times.  "  Destitute,"  says  Lamartine,  "  of  exterior  graces,  and  of  that  gift  of  extenipu 
Wneous  speakmg  which  pours  forth  the  unpremeditated  insi)irations  of  natural  eloquence  Robes- 
^e  had  taken  so  much  pains  with  himself,  -  he  had  meditated  so  much,  written  and  era...^ 
M  much,  —  he  had  so  often  braved  the  inattention  and  the  sarcasms  of  his  audiences,  -  .hat.  n 
K^l,  he  succeeded  in  giving  warmth  and  suppleness  to  his  style,  and  .n  transforming  ^ b 
whol^  person,  despite  his  stiff  and  meagre  figure,  his  shrill  voice  and  abrupt  gesticulation,  mto 
an  engine  of  elocjuence,  of  conviction  and  of  passion." 

The  enemies  of  the  Republic  call  me  tyrant !    Were  I  such  they 
would  grovel  at  my  feet.    I  should  gorge  them  with  gold,  —  I  should 
grant  them  impunity  for  their  crimes,  —  and  they  \\ould  be  gratetul 
Were  I  such,  the  Kini^s  we  have  vanquished,  far  from  denouncing 
R/  bcspTerre.  would  lend'me  their  guilty  support.    There  would  be  9 


SieNATORIAL.  —  TRELAT. 

mvmmt  between  them  and  me.  Tyranny  must  have  tools.  But  the 
enemies  of  tyranny,  —  whither  does  their  path  tend?  To  the  tomb 
lltrnrfv'^'  What  t^^-ant  is  my  protector?  To  what  faction 
do  I  belong  ?  Yourselves !  What  faction,  since  the  beginning  cf  the 
Revolution,  has  ci^ushed  and  annihilated  so  many  detected  tmitors^ 
1  ou  —  the  People,  —  our  principles,  —  are  that  faction  !  A  factior 
iay  is  banded^!    ''''      ''''^  ^^'""^  scoundrelism  of  the 

M.5\'l.'''^?™n°"  ^'P^^^^'       ^^^^       obj^^t'  and  I  know 

that  ^the  Republic  can  be  established  only  on  the  eternal  basis  of 
morality.    Against  me,  and  against  those  who  hold  kindred  principles, 

regiet .  I  have  seen  the  Past ;  and  I  foresee  the  Future.  What 
triend  of  his  country  would  wish  to  survive  the  moment  when  he  could 
no  longer  serve  it,- when  he  could  no  longer  defend  innocence  against 
oppression  ?_  Wherefore  should  I  continue  in  an  order  of  thirs 
where   mtngue  eteimlly  triumphs  over  truth;    where  justice  ^is' 

aZt^ti^  "^j^^^'  ^ost  absurd, 

oveinde  the  sacred  interests  of  humanity?  In  witnessing  the  multi 
tude  of  vices  which  the  torrent  of  the  Revolution  has  rolled  in  turb  d 

feared  that  I  should  be  sullied,  in  the  eyes  of  posterity,  by  the  impure 
neighborhood  of  unprincipled  men,  who  had  thrust  themselves  ^in  o 
a  sociation  with  the  sincere  friends  of  humanity;  and  I  rejoice  tS 
these  conspirators  agamst  my  country  have  now,  by  their  reckles. 
trfe'mer  demarcation  l^tween'thLselves  and  ali 

ihSTf''''  f"''*^'^'  ''^f  defenders  of  liberty,  in  all 

Il^o  '  TUo  ^fd  ""Tt^Ti  ^/  ^^-^^  ^-^'--rs  died 

vprv  ^-ff     f  ^^'^PP^^^  ^^^'^  ^'^^  the  earth  ;  but  in 

very  diiferent  conditions  0,  Frenchmen  !  0,  my  countrym^  !  Le" 
not  your  enemies,  with  their  desolating  doctrines,  degrade  your  soX 

eterrsTet^^"^^^^^^^^^         No,  Chaumette,^  no  !    Lth 'is  .o. 
eternal  sleep    !    Citizens !  efface  from  the  tomb  that  motto,  graven  by 
^crilegious  hanas,  winch  spreads  over  all  nature  a  funereal  ^rape,  takes 

Bation  ot  death !    Inscribe  rather  thereon  these  words  :  -  Death  is  the 
^---tality!"    I  leave  to  the  oppre^o     of  h 
People  a  terrible  testament,  which  I  proclaim  with  the  independence 
d'eT''"""        -arlyUed;  it  is  the  awfal  St  " 

24.  ADDRESS  TO  IHE  CHAMBER  OF  PEERS,  1835  -  Tr^^a* 

--le^IoJrmif  necessary -that  it  was  ine^t:d>]c 

we  should  meet  face  to  face:  we  do  so  now.    Gentlemen  Peers, 

re:,Sr Z  ;ra7ut.1tat  the  public 


184 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


our  mutual  enmity  is  not  the  birth  of  yesterday.  In  1814,  in  common 
with  mimj,  many  others,  I  cursed  the  power  which  called  you^oi 
your  predecessors  to  help  it  in  chaining  down  liberty.  In  1815  I 
took  up  arms  to  oppose  the  return  of  your  gracious  master  of  that  day 
In  1830  I  did  my  duty  in  promoting  the  successful  issue  of  the  evepi 
which  then  occurred ;  and  eight  days  after  the  Revolution,  1  again 
took  up  my  musket,  though  but  little  in  the  habit  of  handling  warlike 
instruments,  and  went  to  the  post  which  General  Lafayette  had  as- 
signed  us  for  the  purpose  of  marching  against  you  personally,  Gentlo- 
men  Peers  !  It  was  in  the  presence  of  my  friends  and  myself  that 
one  of  your  number  was  received ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  we  had 
some  influence  in  occasioning  the  very  limited  success  of  his  embassy. 
It  was  then  he  who  appeared  before  us,  imploring,  beseeching,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes;  it  is  now  our  turn  to  appear  before  ynu, — but  we  do 
RO  without  imploring,  or  beseeching,  or  weeping,  or  bending  the  knee. 
We  had  utterly  vanquished  your  Kings  ;  and,  they  being  gone,  you 
had  nothing  left.  As  for  you,  you  have  not  vanquished  the  People  ; 
and  whether  you  hold  us  as  hostages  for  it  or  not,  our  personal 
position  troubles  us  very,  very  little ; — rely  upon  that. 

Your  prisons  open  to  receive  within  their  dungeons  all  who  retain 
a  free  heart  in  their  bosoms.  He  who  first  placed  the  tri-colored  flag 
on  the  palace  of  your  old  Kings  —  they  who  drove  Charles  the  Tenth 
from  France  —  are  handed  over  to  you  as  victims,  on  account  of  youl 
new  King'.  Your  sergeant  has  touched  with  his  black  wand  the 
courageous  deputy  who  first,  among  you  all,  opened  his  door  to  the 
Revolution,  The  whole  thing  is  summed  up  in  these  facts :  It  is  tha 
Revolution  struggling  with  the  counter-revolution ;  the  Past  with  the 
Present,  with  the  Future  ;  selfishness  with  fraternity ;  tyranny  with 
liberty.  Tyranny  has  on  her  side  bayonets,  prisons,  and  your 
embroidered  collars,  Gentlemen  Peers.    Liberty  has  God  on  her  side, 

 the  Power  which  enlightens  the  reason  of  man,  and  impels  him 

forward  m  the  great  work  of  human  advancement.  It  will  be  seen 
with  whom  victory  will  abide.  This  will  be  seen,  —  not  to-morrow,  not 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  nor  the  day  after  that,  —  it  may  not  be  seen 
by  us  at  all ;  —  what  matters  that  ?  It  is  the  human  race  which 
engages  our  thoughts,  and  not  ourselves.  Everything  manifests  that 
the  hour  of  deliverance  is  not  far  distant.  It  will  then  be  seen 
whether  God  will  permit  the  lie  to  be  given  Him  with  impunity. 

Gentlemen  Peers,  I  did  not  stand  up  with  the  purpose  of  defending 
myself.  You  are  my  political  enemies,  not  my  judges.  In  a  fail 
trial,  it  is  necessary  that  the  judge  and  the  accused  should  understand, 
—  should,  to  a  certain  extent,  sympathize  with  each  other In  tha 
present  case,  this  is  quite  out  of  the  question.  We  do  not  fee  1  alike 
we  do  not  speak  the  same  language.  The  land  we  inhabit,  humanit) 
itself,  its  law3,  its  requirements,  duty,  religion,  the  sciences,  the  artb, 
industry,  all  that  constitutes  society,  — Heaven,  earth,  —  nothing  appears 
fcf»  us  in  the  same  light  that  it  does  to  you.  There  is  a  wa-  M  between 
us  You  may  condemn  me  ;  but  I  accept  you  nojb  as  judges  for  you 
wo  unable  to  comnrchond  mo 


SENATOKIAL.  —  1)E  lOCQCEVimi. 


186 


86.  THE  ESTABLISHMENI  OF  THE  REPUBLIC,  im.-rMmrline. 

that  mo»t  needs  the  contumed  inspiration  and  benediction  of  God-  for 
of  the  reason  of  the  People  should  be  obscured  or  misled,  there  is 
*>ngcr  a  sovereign.     There  is  an  interregnum,  anarchy,  death  Z 
omei  that  a  Government  may  be  durable,  a°nd  worthy  o/ the  sanction 
of  religion,  it  must  contain  a  principle  that  is  true,  that  is  divi^  tS 
IS  best  adapted  to  the  welfare  of  the  many.    Without  thirZ 
s  t.  utu,n  IS  a  dead  letter ;  ,t  is  nothing  nje  than  a  edleetl  "nrf  laws 
It  IS  wi  thout  soul ;  It  no  longer  lives  ;  it  no  longer  produces  fruit  Th^ 
new  princip  e  of  the  Republic  is  political  equaltty  a.nong  a  1  c  W  of 
citizens     This  principle  has  for  its  exponent  universaf  suff^e  for 
ts  resul    the  sovereignty  of  all ;  for  its  moral  consequence,  frate  n  "y 
among  all.    We  reign  according  to  the  full  measure  of  our  reason  of 
our  into  hgence,  of  our  virtue.    We  are  all  sovereigns  over  ourTeh^ 

t  Isltl^'f  P  •  ^  ^  Constitutio'n,  and  to  ^et"' 

It,  IS  not  all.    A  People  is  needed  to  execute  it 

Citizens  !  all  progress  requires  effort.    Every  effort  is  painful  and 

l"  "''Th^r  r^-~^"%  transfoiLatrsTr 
aboiious.     The  People  are  the  artificers  of  their  own  future  Let 
hem  reflect  upon  that.  The  future  observes  and  awaits  them T  shame 

upon  the  cowards  who  would  draw  back  !    Prudence  to  the  incoS! 

erate,  who  would  precipitate  society  into  the  unknown  !   Glory  to  t^e 

good,  to  the  wise,  to  the  persevering !_  may  God  be  with  them  ' 


Trans 


m.  DEMOCKACY  ADVERSE  TO  SOCIALISM. Tocueville.  Ori 

natnre'ofT'-'~^"'''''™l  ^hy  profess  to  associate  what]  in  the 
nature  of  things,  can  never  be  united  ?  Can  it  be,  Gentlemen  that 
this  whole  grand  movement  of  the  French  Revolution  is  destined  to 
terminate  in  that  form  of  society  which  the  Socialists  have  wTth  so 
much  fervcr,  depicted?  A  society,  marked  out  with  eommls  and 
rue;  m  which  the  State  is  to  charge  itself  with  everythi„/and  the 

fort'  W-S'  wTs  t  f  *"  P«'-«»'»l 

Z\     I  f  •■Jf  "  °f  beavers  and  of  bees,  a  society 

.th  tlf'^  "™  ^''^  »d  civilized,  _;asTtfS 

such  that  the  French  Revolution  was  accomplished?    Not  so'  ll 
wafl  for  a  greater,  a  more  sacred  end  ;  one  morl  worthy  of  humanity 
racv    I  r^'^'     ^  development  of  Dem^ 

.f  this  word  Democracy.  I  shall  not,  as  gentlemen  did  yciterda? 
raverse  the  garden  of  Greek  roots,  to  find  the  derivation  of  [h  s  worf 
I  shall  ponit  you  to  Democracy,  where  I  have  seen  it,  living,  a^ive 
triumphant;  m  the  only  country  in  the  world  where  i  truly  extte 
rtere  it  has  been  able  to  establish  and  mamtaia,  even  to  the^  preLm 
time  s,imetiimg  graud  and  durable  to  claim  our  Ldmiratiou, 


Jgg  THE  SiiNDARD  BVEiKIM. 

New  World,  —  in  America,— There  shall  you  see  a  People,  am«n| 
whom  all  conditions  of  men  are  more  on  an  equality  even  than  among 

where  the  social  state,  the  manners,  the  laws,  -  everything 
democratic  ;  where  all  emanates  from  the  People  and  returns  to  the 
People;  and  where,  at  the  same  time,  every  individual  enjoys  a  greater 
amount  of  liberty,  a  more  entire  independence,  tiian  m  any  other  part 
of  the  world,  at  any  period  of  time;-a  country,  I  repeat  it,  essentiallr 
Democratic  the  only  Democracy  in  the  wide  world  at  th>s 
the  only  Republic,  tr^dy  Democratic,  which  we  know  of  ^^^f^^ 
And  in  this  Kepnblic  you  wii!  look  m  vam  for  Socialism  ^ot  only 
have  the  theories  of  the  Socialists  gained  no  ^^^''-^^T.t^. 
public  mind,  but  they  have  played  so  trifling  a  part  m  the  discns^ions 
a"d  affairs  of  that  great  Nation,  that  they  have  not  even  reached  the 

^'^lilS  Sy  that  country,  of  the  whole  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
sovereignty  of  Democracy  is  most  practical  and  complete  and  it  is  at 
he  sa^  time  that  where  the  doctrines  of  the  Socialists,  which  you 
oretaKl  to  find  so  much  in  accordance  with  Democracy,  are  the  east 
f„  vogue  ;  'he  country,  of  the  whole  universe,  where  the  men  sustain- 
ngXe  doctrines  would  have  the  least  chance  of  making  an  impres- 
sion  For  myself  personally,  I  do  not  see,  I  confess,  any  g>eat  objee- 
t  on  ^  the  em^gratL  of  these  proselyting  g™*!-"™  ^JJ^fX^s 
I  warn  them  that  thev  will  not  find  tliere  any  field  ^^^'f^ylfT:. 

No  Gentlemen,  Democracy  and  Socialism  are  the  antipodes  of  each 
other  While  Democracy  extends  the  sphere  of  individual  mdepend- 
ence  Soldism  contracts'  it.  Democracy  develops  a  man's  whole 
mlhood  Socialism  makes  him  an  agent,  ^-^--^^^l:^^^^- 
Democracy  and  Socialism  assimilate,  on  one  pmnt  ' 
which  they  introduce;  but  mark  the  difference:  Demociacy  seeks 
Tquality  in  liberty,  whUe  Socialism  seeks  it  in  servitude  and  con- 
straint.   ^  

■a   PKACTIOAL  E15LIGI0U3  INSTRUCTION.-Onsina/  Translation  fi.m  Victor  Hugo. 

The  question  is,  shall  we  confide  the  public  education  of  yonth  to  a 
clerical  party,  independent  of  the  State,-or  to  the  State,  mdependen 
ofTc  e  ieal  party      Free  instruction  -  but  free  mstruction  under 
L  suTerrnteilnJe  of  the  State,  and  not  of  a  -t-  is  what  I  would 
see     It  is  not  to  the  clerical  party  that  I  would  intrust  it.     lo  thaf 
Ta'  tv  I  now  address  myself,  and  I  say  :  In  the  proposi  ion  before  tl.e 
rai  rssembly,  we'see  your  hand  ;  and,  t^^e  candid,  we  d,^^^^^^ 
vnu    The  nronosed  law  is  a  law  with  a  mask.    Under  tl  e  disguise 
0?Uberty  iraims  at  sul^eetion.    But  think  not  that  I  contound  your 
die  rines' your  ambition  ,  your  intrigues,  -  think  not  hat  I  confound 
JXthe  XLl  party,-'with  the  Church,  any  more  than  I  confound 
the  mistletoe  with  the  oak.     You  are  the  parasites  of  the  tlmicn, 
S:  to  of  the  Church.  Call  her  not  your  ™ther  -^^^^^^^^ 
midie  her  your  slave.    Leave  her,  this  venerable  Church,  this  ^  tnora 


SENATORIAL.  HUGO.  Ig* 

&Ie  motner  to  her  t^litude,  her  abnegation,  her  humilit:y  All  these 
compose  bor  grandeur.  Her  solitude  will  attract  the  crowd  he/ 
abnegation  is  her  power ;  her  humilitj  is  her  majesty. 

You  speak  of  religious  instruction.  Know  you  what  it  i«  —  that 
rentable  religious  instruction,  which  must  ever  command  our  homaw 
Without  awakening  our  distrust  ?  It  is  the  Sister  of  Charity  at  the 
p  ilow  of  the  dying.  It  is  the  Brother  of  Mercy  ransoming  the  slave 
It  IS  Vincent  de  Paul  rescuing  the  foundling.  It  is  the  Bishop  ol 
Mareeilles  ministering  to  the  plague-stricken.  It  is  the  Archbishop 
A  r-''™  ^it^^  a  smile  that  formidable  Faubourcr  of  St 

Antome,*  elevating  his  crucifix  above  the  smoke  of  civil  war  and 
counting  It  ittle  loss  to  encounter  death,  so  that  he  might  bring  peace  • 

noX  T'v  t'f  'f^'T  "-^-«^--'-P-found,  efficacious; 
popular;  and  which,  happily  for  religion  and  for  humanity,  makes 
even  more  Christians  than  you  unmake  !  J, 

28.  NECESSITY  0^  ^nELlGIO^. -Ori^.inal  Translation  from  Victor  Hu^^ 

but  hTrri '     'f/'*  ^''"^^'J  P^^™*  instruction, 

tTori  rn  lf  So  far  from  Wishing  to  proscribe  religious  instruc 
tion,  I  maintain  that  it  is  more  essential  at  this  day  than  ever  The 

TLTZ^IT'  T\^'  ^edraws'neare 
i  better  ought  he  to  recognize  His  existence.    It  is  the 

th    it  onlf  ^^^^^      Z  '^""i'°  ^ff-^^'  ^ 

"     7  V"^^^  everything  into  this  narrow  span.    In  im- 

It^f^r  liv  """^  "'"^  ''''''''''^        material  existence,  we 

fff  l  f  hi^s  miseries  by  the  terrible  negation  at  its  close  We 

add  0  the  burdens  of  the  unfortunate  the  Insupportable  weight  of^a 

hopeless  hereafter.  God's  law  of  suifering  we  convert,  by  our  unbe' 
ef,  mto  hell's  law  of  despair.    Hence  these  deplorable  sodal  convul 

Dions. 

That  I  am  one  of  those  who  desire  -  I  will  not  say  with  sincer- 
tj  merely,  but  with  mexpressiblo  ardor,  and  by  all  possible  means!! 
to  amehora  e  the  material  condition  of  the  suffering  cias  es  in  L 
hfe,  no  one  m  this  Assembly  wiU  doubt.    But  the  first  and  ™  es 
of  amehorations  .s  to  nnpart  hope.    How  do  our  finite  miseries  dwMIe 
m  ^e  presence  of  an  mfinite  hope  !    Our  first  duty,  then,  whetb  r  wo 
be  clergymen  or  laymen,  bishops  or  legislators,  priests  or  writer  Is 
^t  merely  to  direct  all  our  social  energies  to  the  Ltementlf  phys 
^  misery,  but  at  the  same  time,  to  lift  every  droopin..  head  towards 
l72.~'"r^  the  attention  and  the  faith  ^f  evi,.ytium"n  ^oul  t 
«^rded  "         '  ''>''7.J>^^>««,«hall  preside,  where  justice  shall 
awarded !    Let  us  proclaim  it  aloud  to  all,  No  one  shall  uniustlv  oi 

Si^:    o   .P'^^"^  V"*\*f'°"-.  ^^-'»»f  the  matKr?] 
fwars  God.    Let  us  not  forget  -  let  us  everywhere  teach  it  —  Thew 
•  Pronounced  Foboorg  of  SaH^anH■lw<lulm<%. 


188 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


would  be  no  (Lgnity  in  life,  it  would  not  be  worth  the  holding,  if  iiv 
death  we  wholly  perish.  Ml  that  lightens  labor,  and  sanctifies  toil,  — 
all  that  renders  man  brave,  good,  wise,  patient,  benevolent,  just,  hum- 
ble, and,  at  the  same  time,  great,  worthy  of  intelligeiice,  worthy  of 
liberty,  —  is  to  have  perpetually  before  him  the  vision  of  a  l^itier  world 
darting  its  rays  of  celestial  splendor  through  the  dark  shadows  of  thia 
present  life.  p      i  • 

For  myself,  since  Chance  will  have  it  that  words  of  such  gravity 
should  at  this  time  fall  from  lips  of  such  little  authority,  let  me  be  per 
mitted  here  to  say,  and  to  proclaim  from  the  elevation  of  this  Tribune, 
that  I  believe,  that  I  most  profoundly  and  reverently  believe,  in^  that 
better  world.  It  is  to  me  more  real,  more  substantial,  more  positive  in 
its  effects,  than  this  evanescence  which  we  cling  to  and  call  life.  It  is 
unceasingly  before  my  eyes.  I  believe  in  it  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  convictions ;  and,  after  many  struggles,  and  much  study  and  expe- 
rience, it  is  the  supreme  certainty  of  my  reason,  as  it  is  the  supreme 
consolation  of  my  soul ! 

I  desire,  tlierefore,  most  sincerely,  strenuously  and  fervently,  that 
there  should  be  religious  instruction  ;  but  let  it  be  the  instruction  of 
the  Gospel,  and  not  of  a  party.  Let  it  be  sincere,  not  hypocritical 
Let  it  have  Heaven,  not  earth,  for  its  end  !  . 


29.  UNIVERSAL  SUFFRAGE,  Mat  20,  IS^.  — Victor  Hugo.    Original  Translation. 

Universal  suffrage  !  —  w  hat  is  it  but  the  overthrow  of  violence  and 
brute  force  — the  end  of  the  material  and  the  beginning  of  the  moral 
fact  ?  What  was  the  Revolution  of  February  intended  to  establish  m 
France,  if  not  this  ?  And  now  it  is  proposed  to  abolish  this  sacred 
right  \  And  what  is  its  abolition,  but  the  reintroduction  of  the  right 
of  insurrection  ?  Ye  Ministers  and  men  of  State,  who  govern,  where- 
fore do  you  venture  on  this  mad  attempt  ?  I  will  tell  you.  It  is 
because  the  People  have  deemed  worthy  of  their  votes  men  whom 
you  judge  worthy  of  your  insults  !  It  is  because  the  People  have  pre- 
sumed to  compare  your  promises  with  your  acts ;  because  they  do  not 
find  your  Administration  altogether  sublime ;  because  they  have  dared 
peaceably  to  instruct  you  through  the  ballot-box  !  Therefore  it  is,  that 
your  anger  is  roused,  and  that,  under  the  pretence  that  Society  is  in 
peril,  you  seek  to  .chastise  the  People,  —  to  take  them  in  hand  !  And 

30,  like  that  maniac  of  whom  History  tells,  you  beat  the  ocean  mth 
rods '  And  so  you  launch  at  us  your  poor  little  laws,  furious  but 
feeble !  And  so  you  defy  the  spirit  of  the  age,  defy  the  good  srnse 
Df  the  public,  defy  the  Democracy,  and  tear  your  unfortunate  finger- 
nails against  the  granite  of  universal  suffrage  ! 

Go  on.  Gentlemen!  Proceed!  Disfranchise,  if  y3U  will,  three 
millions  of  voters,  four  millions,  nay,  eight  millions  out  of  nine  !  Get 
rid  of  all  these  !  It  will  not  matter.  What  jou  cannot  got  rid  ot  la 
/urr  (Mn  fatal  incapacity  and  ignorance  ;  your  own  antipat.hy  tor  the 


SENATORIAL. —  HUiO.  ^^g 

the  East  is  to  her  the  West  •  f^nd  tL?  wf-i         /  "^^^^ 
sea,  than  the  Right  from  the  heart  of  the  People" 


of  the 


_  liAviNG  restricted  universal  suffrage  and  the  riMit  nf  t,„m;. 

ings,  you  now  wage  war  against  the  libertTof  the  Pret    7  !f 

crisis  through  which  we  are  ms<iiv  <,  ;t  ;„    I'^^j  , 

this  trouble"?    Who  is  the  euCii?'  m       '  ^" 

alarm  party  in  Euro^  L  W  .'""Inlr^'Vi."  ^''^ 

"  It  is  Paris  !  "    In  kris^'they  say,  "  It  L  the  PressT"  Th^ 

Of  obseryation  and  reflection  says,  "  The  culnrif  i«        L  ^ 

W  ^  age.  the  figure  of  all  the  great  a^itltt:::  "^T^^ 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


mind,  whicli  was  named  John  Huss,  and  which  did  not  die  on  th* 
ftineral-pile  of  Constance ;  which  was  named  Luther,  and  shook  ortho- 
doxy to  its  centre  ;  which  was  named  Voltaire,  and  shook  faith  ;  which 
was  named  Mirabeau,  and  shook  royalty,  It  is  the  human  mind, 
which,  since  history  began,  has  transformed  societies  and  government? 
Bccordiiig  to  a  law  progressively  acceptable  to  the  reason,  —  WDich  ha** 
been  theocracy,  aristocracy,  monarchy,  and  which  is  to-day  demuc. 
racy.  It  is  the  human  mind,  which  has  been  Babylon,  Tyre,  Jerusa. 
lem,  Athens,  and  which  to-day  is  Paris;  which  has  been,  turn  by 
turn,  and  sometimes  all  at  once,  error,  illusion,  schism,  protestation 
truth ;  it  is  the  human  mind,  which  is  the  great  pastor  of  the  genera- 
tions, and  which,  in  short,  has  always  marched  towards  the  Just,  the 
Beautiful  and  the  True,  enlightening  multitudes,  elevating  life,  raismg 
more  and  more  the  head  of  the  People  towards  the  Right,  and  the 
head  of  the  individual  towards  God  ! 

And  now  I  address  myself  to  the  alarm  party,  —  not  in  this  Chamber, 
but  wherever  they  may  be,  throughout  Europe,  — and  I  say  to  them  : 
Consider  well  what  you  would  do  ;  reflect  on  the  task  that  you  have 
undertaken  ;  and  measure  it  well  before  you  commence.  Suppose  you 
should  succeed  :  when  you  have  destroyed  the  Press,  there  will  rema7n 
somethincr  more  to  destroy,  —  Paris  !  When  you  have  destroyed 
Paris,  there  will  remain  France.  When  you  have  destroyed  France, 
th^jre  will  remain  the  human  mind.  I  repeat  it,  let  this  great  Euro- 
pean alarm  party  measure  the  immensity  of  the  task  which,  m  then 
heroism,  they  would  attempt.  Though  they  annihilate  the  Press  to 
the  last  journal,  Paris  to  the  last  pavement,  France  to  the  last  ham- 
let, they  will  have  done  nothing.  There  will  remain  yet  for  them  to 
destroy  something  always  paramount,  above  the  generations,  and, 
as  it  were,  between  man  and  his  Maker ;  —  something  that  has  written 
all  the  books,  invented  all  the  arts,  discovered  all  the  worlds,  founded 
all  the  civilizations  ;  —  something  which  will  always  grasp,  under  the 
form  of  Revolutions,  what  is  not  yielded  under  the  form  of  progress  ; 
_  something  which  is  itself  unseizable  as  the  light,  and  unapproachable 
%s  the  sun,  —  and  which  calls  itself  the  human  mind  ! 


81.  A  REPUBLIC  OR  A  MONARCHY  ?  — On^ma^  Translation  from  Victor  Hugo 
On  the  question  of  revising  the  French  Constitution,  1851. 

Gentlemen,  let  us  come  at  the  pith  of  this  debate.  It  is  not  our 
Bide  of  the  House,  but  you,  the  Monarchists,  who  have  provoked  it 
The  question,  a  Republic  or  a  Monarchy,  is  before  us.  No  one  haa 
any  lon<rer  the  power  or  the  right  to  elude  it.  For  more  than  tvro 
years,  this  question,  secretly  and  audaciously  agitated,  has  harassed 
^he  country.  It  weighs  upon  the  Present.  It  clouds  the  luture. 
rii£  moment  has  come  for  our  deliverance  from  it.  Yes,  the  moment 
bas  come  for  us  to  regard  it  face  to  face  —  to  see  what  it  is  macb  o. 
Now,  then,  let  us  show  our  cards  !  No  more  concealment !  I  alhrir 
Jion,  io  the  name  of  the  eternal  laws  of  human  nxorality,  that  Mor 


SENATORIAL.  HUGO.  J^J 

trchj  is  an  historicaJ  fact,  and  nothing  more.  Now,  when  the  fact  is 
^tmct,  nothing  survives,  and  all  is  told.  It  is  otherwise  with  riqU 
fctight,  even  when  it  no  longer  has  fact  to  sustain  it,  —  even  when  it 
no  longer  exerts  a  material  authority,  —  preserves  still  its  moral 
authority,  and  is  always  right.  Hence  is  it  that,  in  an  overthrown 
Kepublic,  there  remains  a  right,  while  in  a  fallen  Monarchy  there 
remains  only  a  ruin.  Cease  then,  ye  Legitimists,  to  appeal  to  ug 
trom  the  position  of  nght !  Before  the  right  of  the  People,  which  is 
sovereignty,  there  is  no  other  right  but  the  right  of  the  individ  lal 
which  IS  liberty.  Beyond  that,  all  is  a  chimera.  To  talk  of  the 
kingly  right  m  this  great  age  of  ours,  and  at  this  great  Tribune,  is  to 
pronounce  a  word  void  of  meaning. 

But,  if  you  cannot  speak  in  tke  name  of  right,  will  you  speak  in  the 
name  of  fact  ?  Will  you  say  that  political  stability  is  the  offspring 
ot  hereditary  royalty,  —  and  that  Royalty  is  better  than  Democracy 
tor  a  State  ?  What !  You  would  have  those  scenes  renewed,  those 
experiences  recommenced,  which  overwhelmed  kings  and  princes- 
the  feeble,  like  Louis  the  Sixteenth  ;  the  able  and  strong,  like  Louis 
Philippe  ;  whole  families  of  royal  lineage,  —  high-born  women,  saintly 
Widows,  innocent  children  !  And  of  those  lamentable  experiences  you 
have  not  had  enough  ?  You  would  have  yet  more  ?  But  you  are 
•  without  pity,  Royalists,  —  or  without  memory  !  We  ask  your  mercy 
on  these  unfortunate  royal  families.  Good  Heavens  !  This  Place 
which  you  traverse  daily,  on  your  way  to  this  House,  —  does  it,  then' 
teach  you  nothing  ?  — when,  if  you  but  stamped  on  the  pavement  two 
paces  from  those  deadly  Tuileries,  which  you  covet  still,  —  but  stamped 
on  that  fatal  pavement,  —  you  could  conjure  up,  at  wUl,  the  scaffold 
trom  which  the  old  Monarchy  was  plunged  into  the  tomb,  or  the  cab 
m  which  the  new  royalty  escaped  into  exile  ! 

Ah,  men  of  ancient  parties !  you  will  learn,  ere  long,  that  at  this 
present  time,  —  in  this  nineteenth  century,  —  after  the  scaffold  of 
Louis  the  Sixteenth,  after  the  downfall  of  Napoleon,  after  the  exile  of 
Charles  the  Tenth,  after  the  flight  of  Louis  Philippe,  after  the  French 
Revolution,  in  a  word,  — that  is  to  .say,  after  this  renewal,  complete, 
absolute,  prodigious,  of  principles,  convictions,  opinions,  situations, 
influences,  and  facts,  —it  is  the  Republic  which  is  solid  ground,  and 
kbo  Monarchy  which  is  the  perilous  venture ! 

32.  THE  TWO  ^^^0\.Y.m%. -Original  Translation  from  Victor  Hugo. 

The  monarchy  of  glory!  There  are  a  class  of  monarchists  in 
trance  who  now  speak  to  us  of  a  monarchy  of  glory.  Legitimacy 
«  impossiDle.  Monarchy  by  right  divine,  the  monarchy  of  principle 
IS  dead  ;  but  there  is  another  monarchy,  the  monarchy  of  glory  —  the 
Lmpire,  we  are  told,  which  is  not  only  possible,  but  necessary.  This 
glory,  where  is  it  ?  What  are  its  elements  ?  Of  what  is  it  comm'^^d  ? 
I  am  cunous  to  witness  the  glory  which  this  present  Govenment  car 
'bow.  What  do  we  see?  All  our  liberties,  one  after  another* 
•intrapped  and  bound;  universal  suffrage  mutilated  and  betrayed 


THE  STA5~DARD  SPEARER. 


BOf-ialist  manifratoes  termmating  in  a  jesuitical  policy ,  and  for  a  Gov 
ernment,  one  immense  intrigue,— history,  perchance,  will  call  it  a 
conspiracy,  — by  which  the  Republic  is  to  be  made  the  bas^s  ot  the 
jiimpire  through  the  Bonapartist  free-masonry  of  five  hundred  thousand 
office-holders ;  every  reform  postponed  or  smothered  ;  burdensome  taxes 
maintained  or  reestablished;  the  Press  shackled ;  juries  packed;  too 
little  iustice  and  too  much  police ;  misery  at  the  foot,  anarchy  at  the 
head,  of  the  social  state.   Abroad,  the  wreck  of  the  Roman  Republic 
Austria  — that  is  to  say,  the  gallows  — with  her  foot  upon  Hungary 
upon  Lombardy,  upon  Milan,  upon  Venice ,  a  latent  coalition  of  Kmge, 
waiting  for  an  opportunity;  our  diplomacy  dumb,  I  will  not  say  an 
accomplice  !   This  is  our  situation.   France  bows  her  head  ;  Napoleon 
quivers  with  shame  in  his  tomb  ;  and  five  or  six  thousand  hirelings 
shonW  Vive  Temper eurr'* 

But  nobody  dreams  of  the  Empire,  you  tell  us.    What  mean,  then 
those  cries  of  Vive  Vempereur^  and  who  pays  for  them  ?  What 
moans  this  mendicant  petition  for  a  prolongation  of  the  l^resident  s 
powers?    What  is  a  prolongation?    The  Consulate  for  life!  And 
wtiere  leads  the  Consulate  lor  life?    To  the  Empire !  Gentlemen, 
here  is  an  intrigue.    We  will  let  in  day-light  upon  it,  if  you  please. 
France  must  not  wake  up,  one  of  these  fine  mormngs,  and  find  her- 
self emperor-ridden,  without  knowing  why.    An  emperor!    Let  m 
consider  the  subject  a  little.     Because  there  was  once  a  man  who 
sained  the  battle  of  Marengo,  and  who  reigned,  must  the  man  who 
Lined  only  the  battle  of  Satory  reign  also?    Because,  ten  centun^ 
ago,  Charlemagne,  after  forty  years  of  glory,  let  fall  on  the  face  of 
the  globe  a  sceptre  and  a  sword  of  such  proportions  that  no  one  dared 
to  touch  them;  and  because,  a  thousand  years  later,  -  for  it  requires 
a  gestation  of  a  thousand  years  to  produce  such  men,  -  another  genius 
ani)eared,  who  took  up  that  sword  and  sceptre,  and  stood  up  erect 
u-vier  the  weight;  a  man  who  chained  Revolution  m  France,  and 
unchained  it  in  the  rest  of  Europe;  who  added  to  his  name  the  bril- 
liant synonyms  of  Rivoli,  Jena,t  Essling  Friedland,  Montmirail ;  i 
because  this  man,  after  ten  years  of  a  glory  almost  fabulous  m  its 
grandeur,  let  fall,  in  his  turn,  that  sceptre  and  sword  which  had  ac- 
com.3lished  such  colossal  exploits,-yow  would  come  -  you,  you  would 
presuTue,  after  him,  to  catch  them  up  as  he  did, -he,  Napoleon,  after 
Chai-lcma-ne,-and  grasp  in  your  feeble  hands  this  sceptre  of  the 
pants,  thfs  sword  of  the  Titans !    What  to  do  ? 

What!  after  Augustus  must  we  have  Augustulus?  Because  we  have 
fead  a  Napoleon  the  Great,  must  we  now  have  Napoleon  the  Little 

Sa  THE  END  OF  GOVERNMENT,  1641.— JoAn  Pym.    Born,  1583  •,  rfied,  1643. 

My  Lords,  many  days  have  been  spent  m  maintenance  of  the 
unpeach  nent  of  the  Ead  of  Strafford  by  the  House  of  Commons, 
'     7ereby  he  stands  charged  with  high  treason ;  and  JO-  J-f 
We  heard  his  defence  with  patience,  and  with  as  much  favoi  as  juj> 

•  Pronounced  Ve.ev  Uaunpphrehr.       t  Ya^nah        t  Mon^hme^nl..^ 


BBNATORIiL.  -     EARL  OF  STRAtFORD.  193 

rfce  Trill  allow  We  have  passed  through  our  evidence  and  tU 
result  IS,  that  -  remains  clearly  proved  that  the  Earl  of  Straflfor.l  hath 
^ndeavored  by  His  words,  actions  and  counsels,  to  subvert  the  fiinda- 
mental  laws  of  ,»^ngland  and  Ireland,  and  to  introduce  an  arbitrary  and 
tyrannical  government.  This  will  best  appear  if  the  quality  of  the 
ofience  be  examined  by  that  law  to  which  he  himself  appea.od,  that 

pZlof '  TK    -'T""'!  P^pidi,-ihe  welfare  of  the 

People  !  This  is  the  element  of  all  laws,  out  of  which  they  ^re 
derived  ;  the  end  of  a  1  laws,  to  which  they  are  designed,  and  in 
which  they  are  perfected.    The  offence  comprehends  all  other  offences 

Der  uriir  t\        1' w?^  ^^P^"^^'  oppressions 

Dp  Ti    K      Tf"  seminary  virtue,  whereby  it  doth  pro- 

duce  all  herbs  and  p  ants,  and  other  vegetables;  there  is  in  this  crime 

re  sonof  r  .      "f'  Yf""^      '  ^-^ider  the 

reason  ot  it,  it  must  needs  be  so. 

The  law  is  that  which  puts  a  difference  betwixt  good  and  evil,- 
til  Wn        f   ""■'"S-  *e  law,  all  things  wiM 

^Z  a  .^^™'-J  become  a  law  to  himself,  which, 

m  the  deprayed  condition  of  human  nature,  must  needs  produce  many 
Iw  •  7  1.  become  a  law,  and  envy  ^ill  become  a 

law  coretousness  and  ambition  will  become  laws  ;  and  what  dictsites, 
what  decisions,  such  laws  will  produce,  may  easily  be  discerned  in  the 
Iat«  government  of  Ireland !    The  law  is  the  safeguard,  the  eustod^ 

States  I    t-  •'r^'f'  liberties  and 

„'l,t      Vf.  '  l"^-    Without  this,  every  m.an 

hath  a  like  right  to  everything;  and  such  is  the  condition  int«  which 
the  Irish  were  brought  by  the  Earl  of  Strafford  ! 

Ihis  arbitrary  and  tyrannical  power,  which  the  Earl  of  Strafford 
did  exercise  with  his  own  person,  and  to  which  he  did  advise  his 
Majesty,  is  inconsistent  with  the  peace,  the  wealth,  the  prosperity,  of  a 
Nation;  it  is  destructive  to  jiatice,  the  mother  of  peace  ;  ti  industry, 
the  spring  of  wealth;  to  valor,  which  is  the  actL  vikue  whereby 

enkrJS'  T^T^  1  t  °™  ^  P™^™'"''  <'°"S™ed,  and 

enlarged.  It  is  the  end  of  government,  that  virtue  should  be  cherished, 
viee  suppressed  ;  but,  where  this  arbitrary  and  unlimited  power  is  se 

and  ITof  "  ™i  ''"""'y-  1^"*      *e  advancement 

and  encouragement  of  evil.  It  is  the  end  of  Government,  that  aU 
accidents  and  events,  al  counsels  and  designs,  should  be  im^d  to 
ti^tjT^L^  tbis^itrary  power -.ould  dispose  aS  to  the 

34.  THE  EARL  OF  STRAFFORD'S  DEFENCE 

.K.^  ^'Tu'  ^f'^/.^  ^^^^t^oned  upon  a  law  which  cannot  be 
•hown.    Where  hath  this  fire  lain  hid  so  many  hundred  years,  with^ 


{g4  STANDAKB  SPBAKEE. 

out  rmnke  to  discover  it,  till  it  thus  bursts  forth  to  consume  ine  aud 
BIT  chiidren?  It  will  be  wisdom  for  yoursekcs,  for  your  posterity, 
nd  for  the  whole  Kingdom,  to  cast  into  the  fire  these  bloody  and  mys- 
terious Tolumes  of  constructive  and  arbitrary  treason,  as  the  pnmitiTC 
Christians  did  their  boolis  of  curious  arts,  and  betake  yourselves  tfl 
Ihe  dain  letter  of  the  law  and  statute,  that  telleth  us  what  is  i-nd 
what  is  not  treason,  without  being  ambitious  to  be  more  leamed  in  tto 
art  of  killing  than  our  forefathers.  It  is  now  two  hundred  and  forty 
vears  since  £iy  man  was  touched  for  this  alleged  crime,  to  this  height, 
before  myself.  Let  us  not  awaken  these  sleeping  lions  to  our  destruc- 
tion, by  taking  up  a  few  musty  records  that  have  lain  by  the  wall  so 
many  a-^es,  fo?gotten  or  neglected.  May  your  Lordships  please  not 
w  add  this  to  my  other  misfortunes;  let  not  a  precedent  be  deriTed 
from  me,  so  disadvantageous  as  this  will  be,  m  its  consequences  to  the 

"  Mfffihe  words  for  which  I  am  here  arraigned  were  not 
wantonly  or  unnecessarily  spoken,  but  they  were  spoken  m  full  Council 
Ihere,  by  the  duty  of  my  oath,  I  was  obliged  to  speak  according  to 
heart^nd  conscience.  In  all  thirigs  concern  ng^  the  Kmg's  ™ 
If  I  had  forborne  to  speak  what  I  conceived  to  be  for  tne  benefit  of 
the  King  and  People,  I  had  been  per  ured  towaras  Almighty  God. 
Li,  for^delivering  my  mind  openly  and  freely,  shall  I  be  m  dang^^ 
of  my  life  as  a  traitor  2  If  that  necessity  be  put^  upon  ™e,  I  thank 
God,  by  His  blessing,  I  have  learned  not  to  stand  m  fear  of  him  who 
eln  only  kill  the  body.  If  the  question  be,  whether  I  must  be  traitor 
Tman^r  perjured  to  God,  I  will  be  faithful  to  my  Creator;  and, 
whatsoever  U  befall  me  from  popular  rage,  o>- 
ness,  I  must  leave  it  to  that  Almighty  Being,  and  to  the  justice  and 

"Tylrdl^S^e  bom  to  great  thoughts;  you  are  nursed  up  for 
the  great  and  weighty  employments  of  the  Kingdom.    B^*.  f  '* 
once^admitted  that  a  councillor  delivenng  his  opm»n  wuh  others  a 
the  council-table,  under  an  oath  of  secrecy  and  faithfulness,  shal  De 
brouXt  nto  question  upon  some  misapprehension  or  ignorance  ofdaw 
^Tf  every  word  that  he  speaks  from  a  sincere  and  noble  intention 
Bha   beTawn  against  him  for  the  attainting  of  him,  his  children  and 
TOS  erity  -I  know  not  any  wise  or  noble  person  of  fortune  who  will^ 
Tpon  ueh  perilous  and  unLfe  terms,  adventure  to  be  cou-i«or  ^ 
the  Kin<r!    Opinions  may  make  a  heretic,  but  that  they  make  « 

'"t  LrrXarSif  m;:el  is  nothing;  but  that  my  indiscr^- 
tion  'should  extend  to  -y.  Po'^^^ty,  wouiideth  m^^^ 

rrarrri"it^;r^"^ 

^  glory  which  shaU  be  revealed  hereafter    And  so.  my  LorK  ev^ 


SENATORIAL.  —  PULTENEY.  Jgg 
35.  ON  REDHCi™  THE  AEMV,  n32.-«^„.  P.„„,,.  ,  ^^^^^ 

other  feignationt  a  standt|  a  my  L  m  1  LntT""'"'^  f  ^"^ 
feiuiuuxuig.    Ana  It  an  ofiicer  were  sent  into  thp  Pnin^f 

fis  ™of  sS'"        t^a'?^"  svzt 


|C)5  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

86   AGAIN^^/  IHE  SUCCESSION  OF  RICHARD  CROMWELL  TO   THE  PROTECTO 
86.  &CAU^l^^  J-m^  n        j>^rj,j;^  iQb9.  ~  Sir  Henry  Fane. 

The  fallowing  rern..lca.le  st^,  ^  ^^Z^^t^^^^^^^ 
Brittanica,  did  not  fail  m      effect    Richa  d  Orora^^^^^^  biographers,  "  swept  every tMng 

ca9  delivered.  -  This  impet^f  /^^^^^^  of  Uber"y,  neve  achieved  1  mor^  complete  triun.ph. 
•efore  it.  Oratory,  genms,  ^^'L^S.^Zs  and  irresistible.  It  broke,  and  forever,  the  power  ol 
It  was  signal  an.l  de^'^J^'^^.-'.P^.l^^^^^^^^^^^^  bor  Tn  Kent,  England,  in  1612  ;  was  the  fourth 
Kr^or  0?  the  c'^nV  of  SLs^aSsett^in  1636  ;  and  was  executed  for  high  treason  oa  Tow« 
Hill,  in  1662. 

Mr.  Speaker,  -  Among  all  the  people  of  the  universe,  I  know  nono 
who  ha™  show;  so  much  zeal  for  the  liberty  ofth«r  ^o™';?  - 
English  at  this  time  have  done they  have,  by  the  help  of  dmne 
Providence,  overcome  all  obstacles,  and  have  ^ff^^^^^^^^^^^ 
We  have  driven  away  the  hereditary  tyranny  of  the  house  ot  btaart, 

the  Expense  of  much  blood  and  treasure,  in  hopes  of  enjoymg  hered- 
try  liberty  after  having  shaken  off  the  yoke  of  kingslnp ;  and  there 
B  not  aln  amon.  uswho  eould  have  imagined  that  any  person  would 
te  so  bo  d  as  to  fire  to  attempt  the  ravishing  from  us  that  freedom 
which  cost  us  so  much  blood,  and  so  much  labor.  But  so  >t  happens  J 
Sw  notby  what  nLisfortune,  we  are  fallen  into  the  errorof  those  who 
™Cned  the  Emperor  Titus  to  make  room  for  Dom.t.an  ;  who  ma^^ 
^ay  Augustus  It  they  might  have  Tiberms ;  and  «hang^  Claudi^ 

L!rei=tr£;rs 
ii^Santei^iS-;S;— ^^^^^^ 
r-lr^iiC^rs^rrr^^^^^^^ 

srfd^^-ix^e^^^^^^^^^ 

venLble  Uy  from  whom  he  received  his  authority,  he  usurped 
irGovernment.  His  merit  was  so  extraordinary,  that  our  judgment^ 
lur  naslfons  mic^ht  be  blinded  by  it.    He  made  his  way  to  empire  by 

Ws  tM«  '    Wetave  seen  that  he  had  a  sword  by  his  side  ;  hnt  did  h 
ever  tow  it"  And,  what  is  of  more  importance  in  this  case,  is  fit 
"  t  oWilnce  fro;  a  mighty  Nation,  who  could         >»f  ^/^^X*; 
^  \     w  .7    -Vm       must  recQo-nize  this  man  as  our  iving,  unaer 

St !  For  my  part,  I  declare.  Sir,  it  shall  never  be  said  that  I 
made  such  a  man  my  master ! 

It  has  teen  observed,  Mr.  Speaker,  by  several  gentlemen,  m  vindi. 
ci;.  of  to  motion,  that,  if  it  should  be  earned,  neither  my  life 


SENA'f  )IIIAL.  —  -WaLPOLE. 

fiberty  nor  estate,  will  be  affected.    But  do  the  honorable  gentlfjnen 
consider  my  character  and  reputation  as  of  no  moment  ?    I;,  rt  no 
mputation  to  be  arraigned  before  this  House,  in  which  I  have  aat  fort? 
years,  and  to  have  my  name  transmitted  to  posterity  with  disgrati 
and  nifamy  ?    I  will  not  conceal  my  sentiments,  that  to  be  named 
in  Parliament  as  a  subject  of  inquiry,  is  to  me  a  matter  of  great  con- 
-^•rn ;  but  I  have  the  satisfaction,  at  the  same  time,  to  reflect  that  the 
impression  to  be  made  depends  upon  the  consistency  of  the  charo-e, 
and  the  motives  of  the  prosecutors.    Had  the  charge  been  reduced'^tc 
fipecihc  allegations,  I  should  have  felt  myself  called  upon  for  a  specific 
'lefence.  ^  Had  I  served  a  weak  or  wicked  master,  and  implicitly 
obeyed  his  dictates,  obedience  to  his  commands  must  have  been  m*y 
only  justification     But,  as  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  serve  a 
master  who  wants  no  bad  Ministers,  and  would  have  hearkened  to 
none,  my  defence  must  rest  on  my  own  conduct.    The  consciousness 
Dt  innocence  is  sufficient  support  against  my  present  prosecutors 

barvey  and  examine  the  individuals  who  usually  support  the 
measures  of  Government,  and  those  who  are  in  opposition.    Let  us 
see  to  whose  side  the  balance  preponderates.  Look  round  both  Houses 
and  see  to  which  side  the  balance  of  virtue  and  talents  preponderates' 
Are  all  these  on  one  side,  and  not  on  the  other  ?    Or  are  all  these  to 
be  counterbalanced  by  an  affected  claim  to  the  exclusive  title  of  patri- 
Dtism?    Gentlemen  have  talked  a  great  deal  about  patriotism:  A 
venerable  word,  when  duly  practised !    But  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
ot  late  it  has  been  so  much  hackneyed  about,  that  it  is  in  danger  of 
tailing  into  disgrace.    The  very  idea  of  true  patriotism  is  lost ;  and 
the  term  has  been  prostituted  to  the  very  worst  of  purposes  A 
patriot  birj  — Why,  patriots  spring  up  like  mushrooms!    I  could 
raise  fifty  of  them  within  the  four-and-twenty  hours.    I  have  raised 
toany  of  them^  in  one  night.    It  is  but  refusing  to  gratify  an  unrea- 
sonable or  an  msolent  demand,  and  up  starts  a  patriot.    I  have  never 
been  afraid  of  making  patriots ;  but  I  disdain  and  despise  all  their 
eiiorts     This  pretended  virtue  proceeds  from  personal  malice,  and 
from  disappointed  ambition.    There  is  not  a  man  amongst  them  whose 
particular  aim  I  am  not  able  to  ascertain,  and  from  what  motive  ha 
has  entered  mto  the  lists  of  opposition ! 

38.    AGAINST  MR.  PITT,  1741  Td. 

Sir,  —  I  was  unwilling  to  interrupt  the  course  of  this  debate  whUe 
luffeTthr^  "'^  with  calmness  and  decency,  by  men  who  do  not 
Butter  the  ardor  of  opposition  to  cloud  their  reason,  or  transport  them 
to  such  expressions  as  the  dignity  of  this  assembly  does  not  admit.  I 
ttaje  hither  o  deterred  io  answer  the  gentleman  who  declaimed  against 
the  bill  with  such  fluency  of  rhetoric,  and  such  vehemence  of  ges- 
ture,-- who  charged  the  advocates  for  the  expedients  now  proposed 
mth  having  no  regard  to  any  interest  but  their  own,  and  with  making 
only  to  consume  paper,  a-nd  tJireatened  them  with  the  defection 


19m  the  standard  speaker. 

of  their  adherents,  and  the  loss  of  their  influence,  upon  this  new  Ji* 
wvery  of  their  folly,  and  their  ignorance.    Nor,  Sir,  do^  I  now 
answer  him  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  remind  him  how  httle  th« 
clamors  of  rage,  and  the  petulancy  of  invectives,  contribute  to.  the 
purposes  for  which  this  assembly  is  called  together ;  — how  little  the 
discovery  of  truth  is  promoted,  and  the  security  of  the  Nation  estab- 
lished, by  pompous  diction,  and  theatrical  emotions.  Formidable 
sounds  and  furious  declamations,  confident  assertions  and  lofty  periods, 
may  affect  the  young  and  inexperienced ;  and  perhaps  the  gentleman 
may  have  contracted  his  habits  df  oratory  by  conversing  more  with 
those  of  his  own  age  than  with  such  as  have  had  more  opportunities' 
of  acqiiirina  knowledge,  and  more  successful  methods  of  communi- 
eatino-  their  sentiments.    If  the  heat  of  his  temper,  Sir,  would  suffer 
him  t°o  attend  to  those  whose  age  and  long  acquaintance  with  business 
crive  them  an  indisputable  right  to  deference  and  superiority,  he  would 
fearn  in  time,  to  reason  rather  than  declaim,  and  to  prefer  justness 
of  argument,  and  an  accurate  knowledge  of  facts,  to  sounding  epithets, 
and  splendid  superlatives,  which  may  disturb  the  imagination  for  a 
moment,  but  which  leave  no  lasting  impression  on  the  mmd.    Me  will 
learn.  Sir,  that  to  accuse  and  prove  are  very  different ;  and  ttiat 
reproaches,  unsupported  by  evidence,  affect  only  the  character  of  him 
that  utters  them.    Excursions  of  fancy,  and  flights  of  oratory,  are 
indeed,  pardonable  in  young  men,  but  in  no  other;  and  it  would 
surely  contribute  more,  even  to  the  purpose  for  which  some  gentlemen 
appear  to  speak  (that  of  depreciating  the  conduct  of  tne  administra- 
tion),  to  prove  the  inconveniences  and  injustice  of  this  Bill,  than  barely 
to  assert  them,  with  whatever  magnificence  of  language,  or  appearance 
of  zeal,  honesty,  or  compassion. 


39.  REPLY  TO  SIR  R.  WALPOLE,  \U\.- William  Pitt,  afterwards  Earl  of  Chatham 

Willinm  Pitt,  first  Earl  of  Chatham,-one  of  the  greatest  orators 
ially  endeared  to  Americans  for  his  eloquent  appeals  in  then- beha  f  ^^f'^^t  jlm^^  ■„ 

ter  of  Debates,  and  probably  received  many  touches  from  his  pen. 

#HM^  The  atrocious  crime  of  being  a  young  man,  which  the  honor- 
»bk  gentleman  has,  with  such  spirit  and  decency,  charged  upon  me  1 
iOiall  neither  attempt  to  palliate  nor  deny  ;  -  but  content  mj^e  f  with 
wi»hini£  that  ]  may  be  one  of  those  whose  follies  may  cease  with  then 


ftFJJATURlAL.  EARl  OF  CHATHAM. 


path,  and  not  of  that  number  who  are  ignorant  in  spite  of  experience* 
Whether  youth  can  be  imputed  to  any  man  as  a  reproach,  I  will  not 
3ir,  assume  the  province  of  determining  ;  —  but  surely  age  may  become 
justly  contemptible,  if  the  opportunities  which  it  brings  have  passcy 
away  without  improvement,  and  vice  appears  to  prevail  when  the 
passions  have  subsided.  The  wretch  who,  after  having  seen  the  con- 
sequences  of  a  thousand  errors,  continues  still  to  blunder,  and  whose 
has  only  added  obstinacy  to  stupidity,  is  surely  the  object  of  either 
abhorrence  or  contempt,  and  deserves  not  that  his  gray  hairs  should 
secure  him  from  insult.  Much  more.  Sir,  is  he  to  be  abhorred,  who. 
as  he  has  advanced  in  age,  has  receded  from  virtue,  and  becomes  more 
wicked  with  less  temptation  ;— who  prostitutes  himself  for  money 
which  he  cannot  enjOy,  and  spends  the  remains  of  his  life  in  the  ruir 
of  his  country. 

But  youth.  Sir,  is  not  my  only  crime  :  I  have  been  accused  of 
acting  a  theatrical  part.    A  theatrical  part  may  either  imply  some 
peculiarities  of  gesture,  or  a  dissimulation  of  my  real  sentiments,  and 
an  adoption  of  the  opinions  and  language  of  another  man.    In  the  first 
sense.  Sir,  the  charge  is  too  trifling  to  be  confuted,  and  deserves  only 
to  be  mentioned,  to  be  despised.    T  am  at  liberty,  like  every  other 
man,  to  use  my  own  language;  and  though,  perhaps,  I  may  have 
some  ambition  to  please  this  gentleman,  I  shall  not  lay  myself  under 
any  restraint  nor  very  solicitously  copy  his  diction  or  his  mien,  how- 
ever matured  by  age  or  modelled  by  experience.    If  any  man  shall, 
by  charging  me  with  theatrical  behavior,  imply  that  I  utter  any  sen 
timents  but  my  own,  I  shall  treat  him  as  a  calumniator  and  a  villain 
—  nor  shall  any  protection  shelter  him  from  the  treatment  he  deserves 
i  shall,  on  such  an  occasion,  without  scruple,  trample  upon  all  those 
forms  with  which  wealth  and  dignity  intrench  themselves, nor  shall 
anythmg  but  age  restrain  my  resentment age,  which  always  brin^a 
owe  privilege,  that  of  being  insolent  and  supercilious  without  punish- 
ment.    But  with  regard.  Sir,  to  those  whom  I  have  offended  T  am  of 
opimon  that,  if  I  had  acted  a  borrowed  part,  I  should  have  avoided 
their  censure:  the  heat  that  offended  them  is  the  ardor  of  conviction 
and  that  zeal  for  the  service  of  my  country  which  neither  hope  nor 
fear  shall  influence  me  to  suppress.    I  will  not  sit  unconcerned  while 
my  liberty  is  invaded,  nor  look  in  silence  upon  public  robbery.    I  will 

^^Z'Z^.w  /r'^^^^^^  '^nK^^'  a^s,4sor,and 

iiag  the  thief  to  justice,  —  whyever  may  protect  SiW  in^^  villany 
and  whoever  may  partake  of^^  plunder.  I 


40.  IN  REPLY  TO  MR.  GRENV^LE,  1766. -Car  n/Chsth^. 

SiK_  »  charge  is  brought  against  Gentlemen  sitting  in  Ihis  Hoase 
of  giving  birth  to  sedition  in  America.  Several  have  spoken  then 
sentiments  with  freedom  against  this  unhappy  act,  -  and  that  freedon. 
ha.s  become  their  crime.    Sorry  I  am  to  hear  the  liberty  of  speech  ic 


^00  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

feWs  House  imputed  as  a  crime.  But  the  imputation  shall  not  dii* 
sourar^e  me.  The  Gentleman  tells  us,  America  is  obstmate ;  Ameri^ 
is  alSost  in  open  rebellion.  I  rqioice  that  America  has  resisted. 
]W  millions  of  people  so  dead  to  all  the  feelings  of  liberty  as  volun- 
tarily  to  let  themselves  be  made  slaves  would  have  been  fit  instruments 
to  mlike  slaves  of  all  the  rest.  I  come  "lot  here  armed  at  all  points 
with  law  cases  and  acts  of  Parliament,  with  the  statute-book  doubled 
down  in  do^s'  ears,  to  defend  the  cause  of  liberty.  I  would  not  debate 
a  particular  point  of  law  with  the  Gentleman.  I  know  his  abilities. 
But,  for  the  defeDce  of  liberty,  upon  a  general  prmciple,  upon  a  ton- 
Btitutional  principle,  it  is  a  ground  on  which  I  stand  firm,  —  on  which  i 
dare  meet  my  man.  . 

The  Gentleman  boasts  of  his  bounties  to  America.  Are  not  thoso 
bounties  intended  finally  for  the  benefit  of  this  Kingdom?  If  they 
are  not,  he  has  misapplied  the  national  treasures.  He  asks,  When 
were  the  Colonies  emancipated?  I  desire  to  know  when  they  were 
made  slaves  !  But  I  dwell  not  upon  words.  I  will  be  bold  to  afcrm 
that  the  profits  of  Great  Britain  from  the  trade  of  the  Colonies, 
through  all  its  branches,  are  two  millions  a  year.  This  is  the  tund 
that  carried  you  triumphantly  through  the  last  war.  This  is  the  pri.^6 
America  pays  for  her  protection.  And  shall  a_  miserable  financier 
come,  with  a  boast  that  he  can  fetch  a  pepper-corn  into  the  Exchequer, 
by  the  loss  of  millions  to  the  Nation  ?  =^ 

A  sreat  deal  has  been  said,  without  doors,  of  the  power,  ot  the 
Btreno-th,  of  America.    It  is  a  topic  that  ought  to  be  cautiously 
meddled  with.    In  a  good  cause,  the  force  of  this  country  can  crush 
America  to  atoms.    I  know  the  valor  of  your  troops  ;  I  know  the 
Bkill  of  your  officers.    But  on  this  ground,  — on  the  Stamp  Act, 
when  so  many  here  will  think  it  a  crying  injustice,  —  I  am  one  who 
will  lift  up  my  hands  against  it.    In  such  a  cause  even  your  success 
would  be  hazardous.    America,  if  she  fell,  would  fall  like  the  strong 
man.    She  would  embrace  the  pillars  of  the  State,  and  pull  down  he 
Coxistitution  along  with  her.    Is  this  your  boasted  peace  ?  To  sheathe 
the  sword,  not  in  its  sca,bbard,  but  in  the  bowels  of  your  countrymen  ? 
Will  you  quarrel  with  yourselves,  now  the  whole  House  of  Bourbon  is 
united  against  you?    While  France  disturbs  your  fisheries  m  New- 
foundland,  embarrasses  your  slave-trade  to  Africa  and  withholds  from 
your  subjects  in  Canada  their  property  stipulated  by  treaty  ?  while  the 
Lnsom  for  the  Manillas  is  denied  by  Spam?    The  Americans  have 
been  wronged.    They  have  been  driven  to  madness  by  )™ 
you  punish  them  for  tfie  madness  you  have  occasioned  ?    Bather  le 
Ldl^nce  and  temper  come  first  from  this  side !    I  will  undertake  for 
America  that  she  will  follow  the  example. 

«  Bo  to  her  faults  a  little  blind  ; 
13e  to  her  virtues  very  kind." 

l^t  the  Stamp  Act  be  repealed;  and  let  the  reason  for  the  repeal - 
•  Mr.  Nugent  had  said  that  a  peppercorn  in  acknowledgment  of  the  rigbl 
ku.  America  was  of  more  value  than  million?  without  it 


SENATORIAL.  -  ilARI  01  CHATHAltt.  201 

hcause  the  Act  was  founded  on  an  erroneous  prirtdple 
assigned.    Let  it  be  repealed  absolutely,  totally,  and  immediately! 

*  •  ^^^,fj^2f  TO  RECONCILIATION  WITH  AMERICA  -Earl  of  Ckatkma 

Jan.  JO,  1/  /5,  on  his  motion  to  withdraw  the  British  troops  from  Boston. 

f  nS  '^.fY^!  speech,  we  find  in  the  diary  of  Josiah  Quincy,  jr.,  the  follovrin-  memoraa 

"  Attended  the  delates  in  the  House  of  Lords.    Good  fo.t^e'gave  irone'of  t£ 
places  for  hearmg,  and  taking  a  few  minutes.    Lord  Chatham  rose  like  Marcel  us  Hi; 
|uage,  voice  and  ges  -are,  were  more  pathetic  than  I  ever  saw  or  hear.l  befoS  at  the  Bar  o' 
Senate.    He  seemed  hke  an  old  Roman  Senator  ri^-n"-  with  the  diV,,  fv  nf     Z     V  , 
Jith  the  five  of  youth.'    Dr.  Franklin,  who  was^als'^ptesI^t^t'tL'Sfe,!;  f  ^'Thi^^ 

America,  my  Lords,  cannot  be  reconciled  to  this  country --she 
ought  not  to  be  reconciled  —  till  the  troops  of  Britain  are  withdrawn 
How  can  America  trust  you,  with  the  bayonet  at  her  breast  ?  How 
can  she  suppose  that  you  mean  less  than  bondage  or  death  ?  I  there- 
tore  move  that  an  address  be  presented  to  his  Majesty,  advising  that 
immediate  orders  be  despatched  to  General  Gage,  for  removing,  his 
Majesty  s  forces  from  the  town  of  Boston.  The  way  must  be  iminedi- 
ately  opened  for  reconciliation.  It  will  soon  be  too  late  An  hour 
now  lost  m  allaying  ferments  in  America  may  produce  years  of  calam- 
ity.^  ever  will  I  desert,  for  a  moment,  the  conduct  of  this  weiehtv 
business.  Unless  nailed  to  my  bed  by  the  extremity  of  sicknel  I 
will  pursue  it  to  the  end.  I  will  knock  at  the  door  of  this  sleepinc; 
and  confounded  Ministry,  and  will,  if  it  be  possible,  rouse  them  to  I 
sense  of  their  danger. 

I  contend  not  for  indulgence,  but  for  justice,  to  America.   What  is 
our  right  to  persist  in  such  crural  and  vindictive  acts  against  a  loyal 
respectable  people  ?    They  say  you  have  no  right  to  tax  them  without 
their  consent.    They  say  truly.   Eepresentation  and  taxation  must  go 
together  ;  they  are  inseparable.    I  therefore  urge  and  conjure  yoSr 
Lordships  immediately  to  adopt  this  conciliating  measure.    If  illegal 
violences  have  been,  as  it  is  said,  committed  in  America,  prepare  the 
way -open  the  door  of  possibility  —  for  acknowledgment  and  satis- 
taction;  but  proceed  not  to  such  coercion  —  such  proscription  :  cease 
your  indiscriminate  inflictions;  amerce  not  thirty  thousand  ;  oppress 
no    three  millions ;  irritate  them  not  to  unappetis^ble  rancor,  for  the 
ault  of  forty  or  fifty.    Such  severity  of  injustice  must  forever  render 
ncurable  the  wounds  you  have  inflicted.    What  though  you  march 
trom  town  to  town,  from  province  to  province?   mat  thouc^h  vou 
entorce  a  temporary  and  local  submission ;  -  how  shall  you  secure  the 
Dl^edience  of  the  country  you  leave  behind  you  in  your  progress 
How  grasp  the  dominion  of  eighteen  hundred  miles  of  continent 
populous  in  numbers,  strong  in  valor,  liberty,  and  the  means  of 
resistance  ?  j  ^  yj 

The  spirit  which  now  resists  your  taxaUon,  in  America,  b  the  same 
«rhich  lormerly  o])posed  loans,  benevolences  and  ship-money,  in  Eno, 
lani :  -  the  same  sp^nt  which  called  aU  England  on  its  legs,  and,  iTj 


202  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

♦he        of  Kights,  vindicated  the  English  Con-stitation ;  -   the  samj 
wit  which  established  the  great  fundamental  essential  maxim  of 
eour  liberties,  that  no  subject  of  England  shall  be  taxed  but  by  hu 
own  consent.    This  glorious  Whig  spirit  animates  three  milhonb  in 
America,  who  prefer  poverty,  with  liberty,  to  gilded  chams  and  sordid 
affluence ;  and  who  will  die  in  defence  of  their  rights  as  men,  as  free 
men.    What  shall  oppose  this  spirit,  aided  by  the  congenial  flame 
glowing  in  the  breast  of  every  Whig  in  England  ?    "  ;T  is  liberty  to 
liberty  engaged,"  that  they  will  defend  themselves,  their  families  and 
their  country.    In  this  great  cause  they  are  immovably  alhed:  it  is 
the  alliance  of  God  and  nature,  —  immutable,  eternal,  —  hxed  as  the 
firmament  of  Heaven. 

42.  -REPEAL  CLAIMED  BY  AMERICANS  AS  A  RIGHT.  -  From  <Ae  same 

It  is  not  repealing  this  or  that  act  of  Parliament,  -  it  is  not 
repealing  a  piece  of  parchment,  -  that  can  restore  America  to  our  bosom. 
You  must  repeal  her  fears  and  her  resentments  ;  and  you  may  then 
hope  for  her  love  and  gratitude.  But,  now,  msulted  with  an  armed 
force  posted  at  Boston,  irritated  with  a  hostile  array  before  her 
eyes,  her  concessions,  if  you  could  force  them  would  be  suspicious  and 
insecure,  —  the  dictates  of  fear,  and  the  extortions  of  force !  But  it  la 
more  than  evident  that  you  cannot  force  them,^  principled  and  united 
0^  thev  are  to  vour  unworthy  terms  of  submission.  Repeal,  there- 
for nryL^rds/l  say  !  But  bare  repeal  will  not  satisfy  this  enhght. 
ened  and  spirited  People.  You  must  go  through  the  work.  You 
must  declare  you  have  no  right  to  tax.  Then  they  may  trust  you. 
There  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Every  moment  is  big  with  dangers. 
.  While  I  am  speaking,  the  decisive  blow  may  be  struck,  and  millions 
involved  in  the  consequence.  The  very  first  drop  of  blood  shed  in 
civil  and  unnatural  war  will  make  a  wound  which  years,  perhaps  ages., 
may  not  heal.    It  will  be  immedicabiU  vulnus. 

When  your  Lordships  look  at  the  papers  transmitted  to  us  from 
America,  —  when  you  consider  their  decency,  firmness,  and  wisdom,  — 
you  cannot  but  respect  their  cause,  and  wish  to  make  it  y~'  Jj^^ 
declare  and  avow,  that,  in  the  master  States  of  ^^^^l^' ^ j™^^^^^  . 
the  People  nor  the  Senate,  who,  under  such  a  complication  of  difficult 
circumstances,  can  stand  in  preference  to  the  delegates  of  America 
assembled  in  General  Congress  at  Philadelphia.  For  genuine  sagacity, 
fo  singular  moderation,  for  solid  wisdom,  manly  spirit,  «-Wmie  sent. 
tnents,\nd  simplicity  of  language, for  everything  respectable  and 
honorable,  -  they  stand  unrivalled  I  trust  it  is  obviou.  to  your  Loid- 
'hTps  tha  all  attLpts  to  impose  servitude  upon  such  men  o  estao- 
ish  despotism  over  such  a  mighty  Continental  Nation  must  b^^^ 
must  be  fatal.  This  wise  People  speak  out  They  do  no  o  d  th 
.anguag:  of  slaves.  They  tell  you  what  they  mean.  ^^^^}^J^^^ 
ask  voS  to  r-peal  your  laws  as  a  favor.  They  claim  it  as  n  ught  - 
4  den^nd  it.    They  tell  you  they  will  not  submit  to  them.  And 


SENATORIAL.  —  EAEL  OF  WmiM.  20S 

I  tel]  you,  the  acts  must  be  repealed.    We  shall  be  forced  ultimately 
to  retract.     i^et  us  retract  while  we  can,  not  when  we  must     I  sav 
we  must  n9ces3arily  undo  these  violent,  oppressive  acts.    They  must 
be,  repealed.   You  will  repeal  them.    I  pledge  myself  for  it,  that  you 
W]ll,  m  the  end,  repeal  then..    I  stake  my  reputation  on  it.    I  wil' 
consent  to  be  taken  for  an  idiot,  if  they  are  not  finally  repealed;^ 
Avoid,  then,  this  humiliating,  this  disgraceful  necessity.  Every 
motive  of  justice  and  of  policy,  of  dignity  and  of  prudence  urges 
you  to  a  lay  the  ferment  m  America,  by  a  removal  of  your  troops 
from  Boston  by  a  repeal  of  your  acts  of  Parliament.    On  the  other 
hand,  every  danger  and  every  hazard  impend,  to  deter  you  from  per- 
severance m  your  present  ruinous  measures  :  — foreign  war  hangino 
over  your  heads  by  a  slight  and  brittle  thread,  -  Fiance  and  Spain 
W'MGhmg  your  conduct,  and  waiting  the  maturity  of  your  errors  ' 
^  To  conclude  my  Lords  :  if  the  Ministers  thus  persevere  in  m'isad- 
vj-smg  and  misleadmg  the  King,  I  will  not  say  that  they  can  alienate 
tiie  affections  of  his  subjects  from  the  Crown,  but  I  will  affirm  that 
they  will  make  his  Crown  not  worth  his  wearing;  I  will  not  say  that 
undone"'^"      ^^^''^^^^^        ^         pronounce  that  the  Kingdom  is 

43.    LORD  NORTH'S  MINISTRY  DENOUNCED,  1775.  _ /d. 
In  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton. 

The  noble  Duke  is  extremely  angry  with  me,  that  I  did  not  consult 
him  before  bringing  in  the  present  Bill.  I  would  ask  the  noble  Duke 
Does  he  consult  me,  or  do  I  desire  to  be  previously  told  of  anv 
mo  ions  or  measures/^,  thinks  fit  to  propose  to  this  House?  This 
Bill,  he  says  has  been  hurried.  Has  he  considered  how  the  case 
really  stands  ?    Here  we  are  told  that  America  is  in  a  state  of  actual 

'i^f  r  '^^'P^  ""j*^  hmTjing  matters  !  The  opponents 
of  this  Bill  may  flatter  themselves  that  it  will  sink  into  silence,  and 
be  forgotten.     They  will  find  their  mistake.    This  Bill,  though 

.    ^1'  ""^r^^''  to  the  public,  to  the  Nation,  to  the 

remotest  wilds  of  A...nca !  It  will,  I  trust,  remain  a  monument  of 
my  poor  endeavors  to  serve  my  country;  and,  however  faulty  or 
defective  it  may  be,  it  will,  at  least,  manifest  how  zealous  I  have  been 
to  avei-t  the  storms  which  seem  ready  to  burst  on  that  country,  and  to 
overwiielni  it  forever  in  ruin. 

Yet,  when  I  consider  the  whole  case  as  it  lies  before  me,  I  am  not 

r  I  •     l^""'  .^^^  '^'P'^'^^  who  hate  libortv 

should  detest  those  who  prize  it;  or  that  men  who  want  virtue  them- 
delves  should  endeavor  to  depreciate  those  who  possess  it.  Were  I 
disposed  to  pursue  this  theme  to  the  extent  that  truth  would  warrant. 
I  could  demonstrate  that  the  whole  of  your  political  conduct  has  been 
one  contim^ed  senes  of  weakness,  temerity,  and  despotism;  of  blun 

•  The  prediction  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham  was  verified.    After  three  vears'  frnit 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

^ering  ignon^nce,  and  wanton  negligence  ;  and  of  the  most  not^nom 
ferviHtyT  incapacity,  and  corruption.  On  reconsideration,  i  must 
allow  you  on.  merit, -a  strict  attention  to  your  own  ^nterest^  In 
that  view,  you  appear  sound  statesmen  and  able  politicians.  You  wed 
know  if  he  present  measure  should  prevail,  that  you  must  ms  antly 
relinbuish  your  places.  I  doubt  much  whether  you  will  be  able  to 
kerthem  In  any  terms.  But  sure  I  am,  such  are  your  well-know. 
characters  and  abilities,  that  any  plan  of  reconciliation,  however  mod. 
erate,  wise  and  feasible,  must  fail  in  your  hands.  Such  then,  being 
your  precarious  situations,  who  can  wonder  that  you  should  put  a  neg- 
ative  on  any  measure  which  must  annihilate  your  power,  deprive  you 
of  your  emoluments,  and  at  once  reduce  you  to  that  state  ot  in.ig- 
nificance  for  which  you  were  by  God  and  Nature  designed  ? 

44   AGAINST  EMPLOYING  INDIANS  IN  WAB,.- Earl  of  Chatham. 
In  the  course  of  the  debate,  November  18,  1777,  dm-ing  which  the  ,f  ^'Vf ,f  ^.f  sXSlecrt 

Who  is  the  man  that,  in  addition  to  the  disgraces  and  mischiefs  of 
our  army,  has  dared  to  authorize  and  associate  to  our  arms  the  toma- 
hawk  and  scalping-knifeof  the  savage  ?- to  call  mto  civi  ized  alliance 
the  wild  and  inhuman  savage  of  the  woods  ;  to  delegate  to  the  mere 
less  Indian  the  defence  of  disputed  rights;  and  to  wage  the  horror* 
of  his  barbarous  war  against  our  brethren  ?    My  Lords,  these  enormi- 
ties  cry  aloud  for  redress  and  punishment ;  but  atrocious  as  they  are, 
they  have  found  a  defender  in  this  House.     "  It  is  perfectly  justiha- 
ble,''  says  a  noble  Lord,  "  to  use  all  the  means  that  God  and  Nature 
pui  into  our  hands.''     I  am  astonished,  shocked  to  hear  such  princi- 
Dies  confessed,  — to  hear  them  avowed  in  this  House,  or  even  in  this 
country  ;  -  principles  equally  unconstitutional,  inhuman  and  unchris- 
tian '     My  Lords,  I  did  not  intend  to  have  trespassed  agam  upon 
your  attention;  but  I  cannot  repress  my  indignation -I  eel  my^eit 
impelled  by  every  duty  to  proclaim  it.    As  members  of  this  House, 
a?  men,  as^Ghristians,  we  are  called  upon  to  protest  against  the  bar- 
barous  proposition.     "  That  God  and  Nature  put  into  onvh^ndsl 
What  ideas  that  noble  Lord  may  entertain  of  God  and  Nature  1 
know  not;  but  I  know  that  such  abominable  principles  are  equally 
abl  orrent'to  religion  and  to  humanity.    What !  attribute  the  sacred 
sanction  of  God  Ind  Nature  to  the  massacres  of  the  Indian  scalp  g- 
knife,- to  the  cannibal  savage,  torturing,  murdering  devouring,  drink» 
ng  the  blood  of  his  mangled  victims !     Such  horrible  notionB  .^ook 
every  precept  of  religion,  revealed  or  natural;  every  sentiment  of 
konor,  every  generous  feeling  of  humanity  !        ,     .  i 

The.se  abominable  principles,  and  this  more  abominable  avowal  ot 
them,  demand  most  decisive  indignation!    I  call  upon  that  Kigh^ 
.   Heverend  Bench,  those  holy  ministers  of  the  Gospel,ani  pious  pa.ton 


SENATORIAL.  —  EARL  OF  CHATHAM.  20f 

nf  (m*  Church;  I  conjure  them  to  join  in  the  holy  work,  and  to  vindi- 
eate  the  religion  of  their  God !   I  appeal  to  the  wisdom  and  the  law  of 
fchis  learned  Bench,  to  defend  and  support  the  justice  of  their  country! 
[  call  upon  the  Bishops  to  interpose  the  unsullied  sanctity  of  their 
.awn  ;  upon  the  judges,  to  interpose  the  purity  of  their  ermine,  to  save 
us  from  this  pollution  !    I  call  upon  the  honor  of  your  Lordships  to 
reverence  the  dignity  of  your  ancestors,  and  to  maintain  your  own  1  I 
call  upon  the  spirit  and  humanity  of  ray  country,  to  vindicate  the 
national  character!    I  invoke  the  genius  of  the  Constitution  !  From 
the  tapestry  that  adorns  these  walls,  the  immortal  ancestor  *  of  the 
noble  Lord  frowns  with  indignation  at  the  disgrace  of  his  country! 
In  vain  did  he  lead  your  victorious  fleets  against  the  boasted  Armada 
of  Spain,  —  in  vain  did  he  defend  and  establish  the  honor,  the  liber- 
ties, the  religion,  the  Protestant  Religion  of  his  country,  —  if  these 
more  than  Popish  cruelties  and  Inquisitorial  practices  are  let  loose 
amongst  \\%\   Turn  forth  into  our  settlements,  among  our  ancient  con- 
nections, friends  and  relations,  the  merciless  cannibal,  thirsting  for  the 
blood  of  man,  woman^  and  child  ?     Send  forth  the  infidel  savage  ? 
Against  whom  ?    Against  your  Protestant  brethren  !     To  lay  waste 
fcheir  country,  to  desolate  their  dwellings,  and  extin-ate  their  race  and 
name,  with  these  horrible  hell-hounds  of  savage  war  !     Sptun  armed 
herself  with  blood-hounds  to  extirpate  the  wretched  nail  res  of  Amer- 
ica ;  and  we  improve  on  the  inhuman  example  of  even  Spanish  cru- 
elty ;     we  turn  loose  these  savage  hell-hounds  against  our  brethren 
and  countrymen  in  America,  of  the  same  language^  laws,  liberties,  and 
religion,— endeared  to  us  by  every  tie  that  should  sanctify  humanity! 

_  My  Lords,  this  awful  subject,  so  important  to  our  honor,  our  Con- 
stitution,  and  our  religion,  demands  the  most  solemn  and  effectual 
inquiry  And  I  again  call  upon  your  Lordships,  and  the  united  powers 
ot  the  State,  to  examine  it  thoroughly  and  decisively,  and  to  stamp 
upon  It  an  indelible  stigma  of  the  public  abhorrence.  And  I  again 
implore  those  holy  prelates  of  our  religion  to  do  away  those  iniquitiea 
from  among  us.  Let  them  perform  a  lustration ;  let  them  purify  this 
House  and  this  country  from  this  sin.  My  Lords,  I  am  old  and  weak, 
and  at  present  unable  to  say  more  ;  but  my  feelings  and  my  indigna 
tion  were  too  strong  to  have  said  less.  I  could  not  have  slept  this 
mght  in  my  bed,  or  have  reposed  my  head  on  my  pillow,  without  giv- 
ing this  vent  to  my  eternal  abhorrence  of  such  preposterous  and  enoro 
toous  principles. 

45.  KUmOUS  CONSEQUENCES  OF  THE  AMERICAN     k^.-Earl  of  CJiatnam. 

Yuu  cannot  conciliate  America  by  your  present  measures;  you 
sannot  subdue  her  by  your  present,  or  by  any  measures.  What,  then, 

'  *  I'O/d  Howard  of  Effingham,  who  commanded  the  English  fleet  opposed  to  th« 
opamsh  Armada,  and  from  whom  the  Earl  of  SufiFolk  was  descended.  The  tapestry 
f  i«o  r.  ^T"*'  represented  the  defeat  and  dispersion  of  the  Spanish  ArmadtL 

S  r    n      ^^^t^'^er,  1834,  this  tapestry  was  burned  in  the  fire  which  dfeStroye4 
we  two  flouscs  of  Parliament. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


can  you  do?  You  cannot  conquer,  you  cannot  gain,  but  ca» 
address.  In  a  just  and  necessary  war,  to  maintain  the  rights  or  nonor 
of*  my  country,  I  would  strip  the  shirt  from  my  back  in  its  behalf, 
'^ut,  in  such  a  war  as  this,  unjust  in  its  principle,  impracticable  in  it* 
means,  and  ruinous  in  its  consequences,  I  would  not  contribute  a  single 
effort,  nor  a  single  shilling. 

My  Tiords,  I  have  submitted  to  you  with  the  freedom  and  tralb 
which  I  think  my  duty,  my  sentiments  on  your  present  awful  situa- 
tion. I  have  laid  before  you  the  ruin  of  your  power,  the  disgrace  of 
your  reputation,  the  pollution  of  your  discipline,  the  contamination  of 
your  morals,  the  complication  of  calamities,  foreign  and  domestic,  that, 
overwhelm  your  sinking  country.  Your  dearest  interests,  your  own 
liberties,  the  Constitution  itself,  totter  to  the  foundation.  All  this 
disgraceful  danger,  this  multitude  of  misery,  is  the  monstrous  offspring 
of  this  unnatural  war.  We  have  been  deceived  and  deluded  too  long. 
Let  us  now  stop  short.  This  is  the  crisis,  —  it  may  be  the  only  crisis, 
—  of  time  and  situation,  to  give  us  a  possibility  of  escape  from  the 
fatal  effects  of  our  delusions.  But  if,  in  an  obstinate  and  infatuated 
perseverance  in  folly,  we  meanly  echo  back  the  peremptory  words  this 
day  presented  to  us,  —  words  expressing  an  unalterable  determination 
to  persist  in  the  measures  against  America, — nothing  can  save  thifl 
devoted  country  from  complete  and  final  ruin.  We  madly  rush  into 
multiplied  miseries,  and  plunge  into  "  confusion  worse  confounded." 


46.  AMERICA  UNCONQUERABLE.  —  £;arZ  of  Chatham,  November  18,  1777,  on  the 
Address  of  Thanks  to  the  King. 

This,  my  Lords,  is  a  perilous  and  tremendous  moment.  It  is  no 
time  for  adulation.  The  smoothness  of  flattery  cannot  save  us,  in  this 
rugged  and  awful  crisis.  It  is  now  necessary  to  instruct  the  Throne 
in  the  language  of  Truth.  We  must,  if  possible,  dispel  the  delusion 
and  darkness  which  envelop  it ;  and  display,  in  its  full  danger  and 
genuine  colors,  the  ruin  which  is  brought  to  our  doors.  Can  Minis- 
ters still  presume  to  expect  support  in  their  infatuation  ?  Can  Par- 
liament be  so  dead  to  its  dignity  and  duty  as  to  be  thus  deluded  into 
the  loss  of  the  one,  and  the  violation  of  the  other  ;  —  as  to  give  an 
unlimited  support  to  measures  which  have  heaped  disgrace  ar  1  mis- 
fortune upon  us ;  measures  which  have  reduced  this  late  flourishing 
empire  to  ruin  and  contempt  ?  But  yesterday,  and  England  migJd 
havt  stood  against  the  world :  now,  none  so  poor  to  do  her  rever- 
ence /  France,  my  Lords,  has  insulted  you.  She  has  encouraged 
and  sustained  America ;  and,  whether  America  be  wrong  or  right,  the 
dignity  of  this  country  ought  to  spurn  at  the  officious  insult  of  French 
mtcrlerence.  Can  even  our  Ministers  sustain  a  more  humiliating  dis- 
grace ?  Do  they  dare  to  resent  it  ?  Do  they  presume  even  to  hint  a 
^^indication  of  their  honor,  and  the  dignity  of  the  State,  by  requiring 
the  dismissal  of  the  plenipotentiaries  of  America  ?  The  People,  whom 
«hey  affroted  to  call  (XQtemptible  rebels,  but  whose  growing  power  ha< 


SEIiATOIlfAL.  MEREIITH. 


201 


ftt  .d^<t  obtained  the  aame  of  enemies,  —  the  I:*yjple  wHli  whom  thev 
have  engaged  tms  eoumiij  in  war,  and  against  whom  thev  noiv  command 
our  implicit  support  in  everj  measure  of  desperate  hostility,  -  this 
Feople  despised  as  rebels,  or  acknowledged  as  enemies,  are  abetted 
against  you  supplied  with  every  military  store,  their  interests  con- 
suited  ana  their  Ambassadors  entertained,  by  your  inveterate  eneniF 
-^  and  our  Ministers  dare  not  mierpose  wiih  dignity  or  effect ' 

l>iy  Lords,  this  rumous  and  ignominious  situation,  where  we  cannot 
act  with  success  nor  suffer  with  honor,  calls  upon  us  to  remonstrate 
in  the  strongest  and  loudest  language  of  truth,  to  rescue  the  ear  of 
Majesty  from  the  delusions  which  surround  it.  You  cannot,  I  ven- 
ture to  say  It,  you  aiNNOT  conquer  America.  What  is  your  present 
ituation  there  ?  We  do  not  know  the  ,wor.t ;  but  we  know  that  in 
three  campaigns  we  have  done  nothing,  and  suffered  much.  You  may 
swell  every  expense,  and  strain  every  efiort,  still  more  extravagantly 
ZZ"^^     ^^'7.  r^'-^v  ^  tr^^ffic  a^^d  bar-' 

vJn  ^^^'^f^^^^f        foreign  country  :  your  efforts  are  forever 

vam  and  impotent,  -  doubly  so  from  this  mercenary  aid  on  which  you 
rely;^  for  it  irritates  to  an  incurable  resentment  the  minds  of  your 
enemies,  to  overrun  them  with  the  sordid  sons  of  rapine  and  of 
plunder,  devotmj  them  and  their  possessions  to  the  rapacity  of  hire- 
ing  cruelty !  If  I  were  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  while 
a  toreign  troop  was  landed  in  my  comitry,  I  never  would  lay  dok  my 
arms !  —  never !  never !  never  .>    ">vu  my 


47.   ON  FREQUENT  EXECUTIONS.  1111.  ~ Sir  JV.  Meredith. 

Whether  hanging  ever  did,  or  can,  answer  any  good  purno^  1 
doubt :  but  the  cruel  exhibition  of  e.ery  execution-day  is  a  prSat 
hanging  carries  no  terror  with  it.  The  multiplicity  of  our^  han<  t 
laws  has  produced  these  two  things  :  frequency  of  condemnation  and 
frequent  pardons.  If  we  look  to  the  execuLnsLmselve  whareia^^^^^ 
pies  do  they  give  ?  The  thief  dies  either  hardened  or  penitent.  Ill 
that  admiration  and  contempt  of  death  with  which  heroes  and  martyi^ 
inspire  good  men  in  a  good  cause,  the  abandoned  villain  feels,  in  seeL 
a  desperado  like  himself  meet  death  with  intrepidity.    The  penitent 

makes  the  sober  villab  think,  E  by 
robbery,  forgery  or  murder,  he  can  relieve  all  his  wants;  and  if  he  Z 

ZtlJ^eriT'^       P"'^'"^"*  ^^^^"^       trifling,'and  tb. 

h^l^Z^y.  ^^^^^^"^^^t  brings  in  a  new  hanging  law,  he 

^cation.    One  Mar^  Jones  was  executed,  whose  case  T  shaU  ju^i 


jQjJ  THE  STANDAKb  SPEAKEK. 

mention  Shf  was  very  young,  and  most  remarkably  hanason-e.  Sli« 
we"  to  a  line„.draper'JsLp,Lk  sorne  coarse  Hnen  off  the  counter 
and  slipped  it  under  her  cloak  ;  the  shopman  saw  her  and  she  laid  i 
down :  for  this  she  was  hanged.  Her  defence  wa.  (I  have  the  tn^ 
t  mw  nocket)  "that  she  had  lived  in  credit  and  wanted  for  nothing, 
&ri~Lcr.me  and  stole  her  husband  from  her  ;  but,  since  then 
he  h^d  nobbed  to  lie  on  ;  nothing  to  give  her  children  to  eat;  and 
th  y  were  almost  naked :  and  perhaps  she  might  have  ^| 
wnfn.  for  she  hardly  knew  what  she  did."  'Jte  pansh  offiecis  te,t  - 
fie  the  truth  of  this  story  :  but  it  seems  there  had  been  a  good  deal 
of  shop-l  ft  n<.about  Ludgate;  an  example  was  thought  necessary ; 
fnd  thfs  woinan  was  hanged  for  the  comfort  and  satisfaction  of  some 

^Tnrr;LttC:astcl'3  creation  robbed  of  this  its  noblest 
woAT    t  was  for  no  injury;  but  for  a  mere  « Jo  '^loth^^^  two 
naked  children  by  unlawful  means!    Compare  this  with  what  the 
State  did  and  with  what  the  law  did !    The  State  bereaved  t^ie  woman 
of  L  hosbaXand  the  children  of  a  father,  who  wa.  all  their  sui> 
It  ;^^e    w  deprived  the  woman  of  her  life,  and  the  children  of 
their  remaining  parent,  exposing  them  to  every  danger,  m^ult,  ana 
Sess  treatment,  thit  d^titute  and  helpless  orphans  can  suffer. 
Take  aU  the  circum  tances  together,  I  do  not  believe  that  a  fouler  mur- 
dor  wa  ever  eommitted  a^a&st  the  law  than  the  murder  ol  this  woman 
Tthe  law  !    Some  who  hear  me  are  perhaps  blaming  the  Judges  the 
and  the  hangman;  but  neither  judge,  jury  nor  hangman,  are  to 
Ee  _thev  are  but  ministerial  agents:  the  true  hangman  is  the 
member  of  Parliament.    Here,  here  are  the  guilty  ;  he  who  frame. 
Sloody  law  is  answerable  for  the  bloody  deed,  _  for  all  the  injustice, 
all  the  wretchedness,  ail  the  sin,  that  proceed  from  it! 

48.  ON  PARLIAMBNTAEY  INNOVATIONS.  -  Mr.  BeW"?- 

To  calumniate  innovation,  and  to  decry  i'.f  P>-°P°"; 
there  never  been  any  innovations  on  the  Constitution  ?    Can  it  be  tor. 
^t  en  for  one  moment,  that  all  the  advantages,  civil  and  political 
Swe  enjoy  at  this  ho;r,  are  in  reality  the  immediate  and  fortuna^ 
Sectslf  innovation  ?    It  is  by  innovations  that  the  English  Constitu- 
Ss  Zwn  and  flourished.'  It  Is  by  innovations  that  the  Hoi^.  of 
Commons  has  risen  to  importance.    It  was  at  different  eras  that  ho 
^unto  and  towns  were  em'powered  to  elect  representatives     Even  th 
XeeofSpealterwasan  innovation;  for  it  was  "ot  liea>-d  of  tilHho 
?le  of  R  chard  the  Second.    What  was  more,  the  freedom  of  speech 
Tw  ^  highly  valued,  was  an  innovation ;  for  there  were  t.m.^  whe 
no  member- dared  to  a-ow  his  sentiments,  and  wheu  his  he.id  must 
Tavrant  ered  for  the  boldness  of  his  ton^e     To  agn.  agams  mn^- 
vitions  ia  to  ar"ue  against  improvements  of  every  kind.    VV  lien  mi 
Mowek.  of  Wickliffe  maintained  th.  cauM  of  humanity  and  i-eaao, 


SENATORIAL. 


209 


igamst  absurdj'tj  and  superstition,  "  No  innovation/'  wat,  the  cry;  and 
the  fires  of  persecution  blazed  over  the  Kingdom.  "  Let  there  be  no 
innovation,"  is  ever  the  maxim  of  the  ignorant,  the  interested,  and  the 
worthless.  It  is  the  favorite  tenet  of  the  servile  advocate  of  tyranny. 
It  IS  the  motto  which  Bigotry  has  inscribed  on  her  banners.  It  is  the 
barrier  that  opposes  every  improvement,  political,  civil,  and  religioua 
To  reprobate  all  innovations  on  the  Constitution,  is  to  suppose  that  it 
IS  perfijct.  But  perfection  was  not  its  attribute  either  in  the  Saxon 
or  NoTmnn  times.  It  is  not  its  attribute  at  the  present  moment. 
Alterations  are  perpetually  necessary  in  every  Constitution  ;  for  thci 
Government  should  be  accommodated  to  the  times,  to  the  circum- 
stances,  to  the  wants  of  a  People,  which  are  ever  changing. 


49.   THE  FOLLY  OF  SELIQIOUS  mnS^CVTIO^.  ~  Compilatton. 

Mr.  Speaker,  it  behoves  the  piety  as  well  as  the  wisdom  of  Parlia- 
ment  to  disappoint  these  endeavors  to  make  religion  itself  an  ent^ne 
of  sedition.  Sir,  the  very  worst  mischief  that  can  be  done  to  reliSon 
is  to  pervert  it  to  the  purposes  of  faction.  Heaven  and  hell  are  not 
more  distant  than  the  benevolent  spirit  of  the  Gospel  and  the  malia. 
nant  spirit  of  party.  The  most  impious  wars  ever  made  were  those 
called  holy  wars.  He  who  hates  another  man  for  not  being  a  Chris- 
tian  IS  himself  not  a  Christian.  Toleration  is  the  basis  of  all  public 
quiet.  It  is  a  charter  of  freedom  given  to  the  mind,  more  valuable. 
I  think,  than  that  which  secures  our  persons  and  estates.  Indeed^ 
they  are  inseparably  connected  ;  for,  where  the  mind  is  not  free,  where 
the  conscience  is  enthralled,  there  is  no  freedom.  I  repeat  it ;  perse- 
edition  is  as  impious  as  it  is  cruel  and  unwise.  It  not  only  opposes 
every  precept  of  the  New  Testament,  but  it  invades  the  prerogative  of 
God  Himself.  It  is  a  usurpation  of  the  attributes  which  belong  exclu- 
sively to  the  Most  High.  It  is  a  vain  endeavor  to  ascend  into  His 
Throne,  to  wield  His  sceptre,  and  to  hurl  His  thunderbolts. 

And  then  its  own  history  proves  how  useless  it  is.  Truth  is  immor 
tal;  the  swprd  cannot  pierce  it,  fire  cannot  consume  it,  prisons  cannot 
incarcerate  it,  famine  cannot  starve  it;  all  the  violence  of  men,  stirred 
up  by  the  power  and  subtlety  of  hdl,  cannot  put  it  to  deatn.  In  the 
person  of -'fs  martyrs  it  bids  defiance  to  the  will  of  the  tyrant  who  per- 
secutes 11  id  with  the  martyr's  last  breath  predicts  its  own  full  ai.d 
final  tri.iiiiplis.  The  Pagan  persecuted  the  Christian,  but  yet  Chri^ 
tiamty  lives.  The  Roman  Catholic  persecuted  the  Protestant,  but  yet 
Protestantism  lives.  The  Protestant  persecuted  the  Roman  Catholic, 
but  yet  Catholicism  lives.  The  Church  of  England  persecuted  the 
Nonconformists,  and  yet  Nonconformity  lives.  Nonconformists  perse- 
cuted Episcopalians,  yet  Episcopacy  lives.  When  persecution  is  car- 
ried  to  its  extreme  length  of  extirpating  heretics,  Truth  may  bo  extin- 
guished in  one  p^ace,  but  it  will  break  out  in  another.  If  opinioni? 
'^not  be  put  down  by  argument,  they  cannot  by  power.    Truth  gaim 


^IQ  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 

.iie  victory  in  the  end,  not  only  by  its  owrx  evidences,  but  ly  the  snffet 
in^  of  its  confessors.   Therefore,  Sir,  if  we  have  a  mmd  to  estabhsa 
>pace  among  the  People,  we  must  allow  men  to  judge  freely  in  matters 
of  relioion,  and  to  embrace  that  opinion  they  thmk  right,  without  any 
hope  of  temporal  reward,  without  any  fear  of  temporal  punishment/  ■ 

('     AMERICA'S  OBLIGATIONS  TO  ENGLAND,  1765. -  Co^.  Barr^, -.n  reply  te 
K   ,  A.MJ!-tiiUA  .  u        rpo^riHhend,  a  member  of  the  Ministry. 

The  honorable  member  has  asked :  —  "  And  now  will  these  Amer- 
leans,  children  planted  by  our  care,  nourished  up  by  our  mdulgence  and 
protected  by  our  arms,  —  will  they  grudge  to  contribute  their  mite  ? 
They  planted  by  your  car«/  — No,  your  oppressions  planted  them  in 
\merica!  They  fled  from  your  tyranny  to  a  then  uncultivated  and 
inhospitable  country,  where  they  exposed  themselves  to  almost  all  the 
hardships  to  which  human  nature  is  liable  ;  and,  among  others,  to  the 
cruelties  of  a  savage  foe  the  most  subtle,  and  I  will  take  upon  me  to 
sav  the  most  formidable,  of  any  People  upon  the  face  of  God  s  earth; 
and  yet,  actuated  by  principles  of  true  English  liberty,  our  American 
brethren  met  all  hardships  with  pleasure,  compared  with  tnose  they 
suffered  in  their  own  country  from  the  hands  of  those  that  should 
have  been  their  friends. 

They  nourished  up  hy  your  indzdgence !  gr^^ ^  pur 

neglect  of  them!  As  soon  as  you  began  to  care  about  them,  that 
care  was  exercised  in  sending  persons  to  rule  them,  m  one  department 
and  another,  who  were,  perhaps,  the  deputies  of  deputies  to  some  mem- 
bers of  this  House,  sent  to  spy  out  their  hberties,  to  misrepresent  their 
actions,  and  to  prey  upon  them;  men  whose  behavior,  on  many  occa- 
Bions  has  caused  the  blood  of  those  sons  of  liberty  to  recoil  within 
them'-  men  promoted  to  the  highest  seats  of  justice,  some  who,  to 
my  knowledge,  were  glad,  by  going  to  a  foreign  country,  to  escape 
beincr  broucrht  to  the  bar  of  a  court  of  justice  m  their  own. 

They  protected  by  your  arms  !  -  They  have  nobly  taken  up  arms 
in  vour  defence  !  —  have  exerted  a  valor,  amidst  their  constant  a^.d 
laborious  industry,  for  the  defence  of  a  country  whose  frontier  was 
drenched  in  blood,  while  its  interior  parts  yielded  all  its  Me  Havmga 
to  your  emolument.  And,  believe  me,  — remember  I  this  day  told 
vou  so,  —  that  same  spirit  of  freedom  which  actuated  that  People  at 
first  will  accompany  them  still;  but  prudence  forbids  me  to  explain 
mvself  further.  God  knows  I  do  not  at  this  time  speak  from  motives 
of  party  heat.  What  I  deliver  are  the  genuine  sentiments  ot  my 
heart.  However  superior  to  me,  in  general  knowledge  and  expo- 
rienoe,  the  respectable  body  of  this  House  may  be,  yet  I  claim  to 
know  more  of  America  than  most  of  you,  having  seen  and  been 
"onvcrsant  in  that  country.  The  People,  I  believe,  are  as  truly 
loyal  as  any  subjects  the  King  has ;  but  they  are  a  People  jealous  ot 
their  liberties,  and  who  will  vindicate  them  to  the  last  drop  of  theu 
hlood,  if  they  should  ever  be  violated. 


JENArORIAL. BARRE.  211 

M,  REPLY  TO  imiy  NORTH,  1774.  -  CoL  Barr<!.    Born,  1727  ,  aied.  1802. 
When  intelligence  of  the  destruction  of  the  tea  at  Boston  T)pp  1«  Tt?'?  ,.oo„t,  a  ^    ,    j,  ^ 

colony,  or  to  Great  Britain,  for  trial     Whtle  t^^^^^^^      T.t  t.TT  '°  ^"^"^  "^^^^^ 

fbUowing  remarks  were  made  in  pTrUameit  by  Col.  w!  ""^"^"^  P'^'^^^""' 

Sir  this  proposition  is  so  glaring;  so  unprecedented  in  any  former 
proceedings  of  Parliament ;  so  unwarranted  bj  any  delay,  denial  or 
provocation  of  justice,  in  America;  so  big  with  misery  and  oppression 
to  that  country,  and  with  danger  to  this,  -  that  the  first  blush  of  it 
IS  suflicient  to  alarm  and  rouse  me  to  opposition.    It  is  proposed  to 
>tigmatize  a  whole  People  as  persecutors  of  innocence,  and  men  inca- 
pable of  doing  justice;  yet  you  have  not  a  single  fact  on  which  to 
ground  that  imputation !    I  expected  the  noble  Lord  would  have  sup- 
ported  this  motion  by  producing  instances  in  which  officers  of  Govern- 
ment  m  America  had  besn  prosecuted  with  unremitting  vengeance 
and  brought  to  cruel  and  dishojiorable  deaths,  by  the  ^violence  and 
nju..ice  of  American  juries,     i^ut  he  has  not  produced  one  such 
instance;  and  I  will  tell  you  more,  Sir,-he  cannot  produce  one !  The 
ii^tances  whic^  have  happened  are  directly  in  the  teeth  of  his  propo- 
sition.   Ul.  Preston  ana  the  soldiers  who  shed  the  blood  of  the  Peo- 
ple were  fairly  tried,  and  fully  acquitted.    It  was  an  American  jury 
a  ^ew  England  jury  a  Boston  jury,  which  tried  and  acquitted  them; 

of  thf  vpIv";  ^"''.^"^t-  wh"^;  r^^^'^^  ^''^^''^  '^^^  inhabitants 
of  the  very  town  m  which  their  fellow-citizens  had  been  sacrificed  were 
his  advocates  and  defenders.  Is  this  the  return  you  make  them  ?  l' 
^'  l^^^^^^^  them  to  persevere  in  so  laudable  a 

Bpirit  of  justice  and  moderation?  But  the  noble  Lord  says  "We 
must  now  show  tlie  Americans  that  we  will  no  longer  sit  quiet  under 
heir  msmts."  Sir  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  this  is  declamation,  unbe' 
coming  the  character  and  place  of  him  who  utters  it.  In  what 
moment  have  you  been  quiet  ?  Has  not  your  Oovernment,  for  many 
years  past,  been  a  series  of  irritating  and  offensive  measur  s,  without 
policy,  pnnciple_  or  moderation?  Have  not  your  troops  and  your 
htK  their'streets  and  in  thl 

harbors?  Have  you  not  stimulated  discontent  into  disaffection,  and 
Z  h^Ju  "7  ^'"i  disaffection  into  rebellion  ?  Can  you  expect 
to  be  well  mformed  when  you  listen  only  to  partisans?  Can  you 
expeci  to  do  justice  when  you  will  not  hear  the  accused  ?  • 

ly[  '    .       """"i  d<^sperate,  this  destructive  issue.  In 

assenting  to  your  ate  Bill,^  I  resisted  the  violence  of  America  ^t  ^he 
Wd  of  my  popularity  there.  I  now  resist  your  frenzy  at  the  same  risk 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

here  I  know  the  vast  superiority  of  your  disciplined  troops  over  the 
Provincials  ;  but  beware  how  you  supply  the  want  of  discipline  by  to 
Deration '  What  madness  is  it  that  prompts  you  to  attempt  obtaimng 
that  by  force  which  you  may  more  certainly  procure  by  re<iuisitioD^ 
The  Americans  may  be  flattered  into  anything;  but  they  are  too  much 
ike  yourselves  to  be  driven.  Have  some  indulgence  for  your  own 
tos;  respect  their  sturdy  English  virtue  ;  retract  your  odioua 
xert?on;  of  authority,  and  remember  that  the  first  step  towards  mak- 
mg  them  contribute  to  your  wants  is  to  reconcile  them  to  your  W- 


ernment. 


52.  BOLD  PREDICTIONS,  mb.-John  Wilkes.    Bom,  1717  ;  died,  1797. 

Mr  Speaker:  The  Address  to  the  King,  upon  the  disturbances 
in  North  America,  now  reported  from  the  Committee  of  the  whole 
House,  appears  to  be  unfounded,  rash,  and  sangmnary     It  draws 
the  s^ord  unjustly  against  America.    It  mentions.  Sir  the  par- 
ticular  Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay  as  in  a  state  of  actual  rebellion 
The  other  Provinces  are  held  out  to  our  indignation  as  aiding  and 
abettinc    Arguments  have  been  employed  to  involve  them  in  all  the 
consequences  of  an  open,  declared  rebellion,  and  to  obtain  the  fullest 
orS  for  our  officers  and  troops  to  act  against  them  as  rebels 
Whether  their  present  state  is  that  of  rebellion,  or  of  a  fit  and  just 
resistance  to  unlawful  acts  of  power,  -  resistance  to  our  attempts  to 
rob  them  of  their  property  and  liberties,  as  they  imagine  -  I  shal 
not  declare.    This  I  know :  a  successful  resistance  is  a  revolution,  not 
a  rebellion  '    Rebellion  indeed  appears  on  the  back  of  a  flying  enemy : 
but  Revolution  flames  on  the  breastplate  ofthe  victorious^  warnor 
Who  can  tell,  Sir,  whether,  in  consequence  of  this  day's  violent  and 
mad  Address  to  his  Majesty,  the  scabbard  may  not  be  throws  away 
Ty  them  as  well  as  by  us  ;  and,  should  success  attend  them,  whethcTS 
in  a  few  years,  the  independent  Americans  may  not  f  ^br^^e  the 
glorious  era  of  the  Revolution  of  1775,  as  we  do  that  of  1688  ? 

The  policy,  Sir,  of  this  measure,  I  can  no  more  comprehend,  than  i 
can  acknowltdge  the  justice  of  it.  Is  your  force  adequate  to  the 
attempt  ^  I  am  satisfied  it  is  not.  Boston,  indeed,  you ^  may  lay  in 
asS  or'  it  may  be  made  a  strong  garrison ;  but  tire  Province  will  be 
wT  you.  Won  will  be  like  Gibraltar.  You  will  hold,  in  the 
Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  as  you  do  m  Spam,  a  smgle  town, 
while  the  whole  country  remains  in  the  power  and  possession  ot  the 
enemy  Where  your  fleets  and  armies  are  stationed,  the  possessiod 
will  be  secured,  while  they  continue  ;  but  all  the  rest  will  be  lost.  ^  In 
rhLroaTscale  of  empire,  you  will  decline,  I  fear,  from  the  decision 
ofthisdav;  and  the  Americans  will  rise  to  imlependence,  to  power, 
to  all  theVroatness  of  the  most  renowned  States !  For  they  build  on 
the  solid  banis  of  general  public  liberty. 

I  tremble  Sir,  at  the  almost  certain  consequence's  of  sucb  an 
Address.,  founded  in  cruelty  and  injustice,  equally  contrary  to  th« 


SENATORIAL.  —  WILKES.  21% 

^und  maKims  of  true  policy,  and  ihe  unerring  rule  of  natural  right 
I'he  Americans  will  certainly  defend  their  property  and  their  liberties 
mth  the  spirit  which  our  ancestors  exerted,  and  which,  I  hopo  vre 
should  exert,  on  a  like  occasion.    They  will  sooner  declare  themsSves 
mdependent,  aad  risk  every  consequence  of  such  a  contest,  than  submit 
to  the  galling  yoke  which  Administration  is  preparing  for  them  Ad 
Address  of  tnis  sanguinary  nature  cannot  fail  of  driving  them  to 
despair     They  will  see  that  you  are  preparing,  not  only  to  draw  the 
sword,  but  to  burn  the  scabbard.    In  the  most  harsh  manner  you  are 
declaring  them  rebels!    Every  idea  of  a  reconciliation  will  now 
vanish.    They  wil    pursue  the  most  vigorous  course  in  their  own 
defence.    The  whole  continent  of  North  America  will  be  dismembered 
trom  (xreat  Britain,  and  the  wide  arch  of  the  raised  Empire  will  fall 
-but  may  the  just  vengeance  of  the  People  overtake  the  authors  of 
tnese  pernicious  Couiisels !    May  the  loss  of  the  first  Province  of  the 
J^mpire  be  speedily  followed  by  the  loss  of  the  heads  of  those  Ministers 
who  have  persisted  in  these  wicked,  these  fatal,  these  most  disastrous 
measures ! 


53.  CONQUEST  OF  THE  AMERICANS  IMPRACTICABLE,  1775.  _  ^oAn /FtV^e,. 

in  ^^l.  «  f  ^''^-^."f?  ^'^"^^^     Parliament  to  lose  itself 

m  such  a  fulsome  adulatory  Address  to  the  Throne  as  that  now  pro- 

LI    A       """^^^  ^  ^PP^^^«^     ^i^^  and  whole- 

some  advice  ana  even  with  remonstrances,  against  the  Ministers  who 
have  precipitated  the  Nation  into  an  unjust,  ruinous,  murderous  and 
felonious  war.  I  call  the  war  with  our  brethren  in  America  an  unjust 
and  telonious  war,  because  the  primary  cause  and  confessed  origin  of 
It  IS  to  attempt  to  take  their  money  from  them  without  their  consent, 
contrary  to  the  comoion  rights  of  all  mankind,  and  those  great  fund  J 
mental  principles  of  the  _  English  Constitution  for  which  Hampden 
bled,  i  assert.  Sir  that  it  is  a  murderous  war,  because  it  is  an  effort 
to  deprive  men  of  their  lives  for  standing  up  in  the  defence  of  their 

down'!'  '^tZ  ^"^^  ^        ^  f^'^^'  Sir,  will  draw 

down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  on  this  devoted  Kingdom.  Sir  is  anv 
Minister  weak  enough  to  flatter  himself  with  the  conquest  of  the 
Americans  ?  You  cannot,  with  all  your  allies,  -  with  all  the  mer- 
cenary  ruffians  of  the  North,  _  you  cannot  effect  so  wicked  a  purpose. 
Ihe  Americans  will  dispute  every  inch  of  territory  with  you,  every 
narrow  pass,  every  strong  defile,^  every  Thermopyl^,  every  Bunker'. 
Hill !  More  than  half  the  Empire  is  already  lost,  and  almost  all  thfl 
rest  IS  m  confusion  and  anarchy.  We  have  appealed  to  the  sword  • 
and  what  have  we  gained  ?  Bunker's  HHl  only,  _  and  that  with  the 
^ss  of  twelve  hundred  men !  Are  we  to  pay  as  dear  for  the  lest  of 
America  ?  The  idea  of  the  conquest  of  that  immense  coun'iv  is  us 
romantic  as  unjust.  *  i» 

The  honorable  Gentleman  who  moved  this  Address  sa.j,  "The 
Wricans  have  been  treated  with  l«aity  "    Will  facts  ,  istify  the 


214 


THE  STANDARD  SJfEAKER. 


assertion  ?  Was  jour  Boston  Port  Bill  a  measure  of  lenity  '  WaA 
your  Fishery  Bill  a  measure  of  lenity  ?  Was  your  Bill  for  taking 
away  the  charter  of  Massachusetts  Bay  a  measure  of  lenity,  or  even 
3f  justice  ?  I  omit  your  many  other  gross  provocations  and  insults 
by  which  the  brave  Americans  have  been  driven  to  their  present  state. 
Sir,  I,  disapprove,  not  only  the  evil  spirit  of  this  whole  Address,  bui 
like*vise  the  wretched  adulation  of  aim  st  every  part  of  it.  My  wish 
md  hope,  therefore,  is,  that  it  will  be  rejected  by  this  House  ;  and  tha, 
another,  dutiful  yet  decent,  manly  Address,  will  be  presented  to  hia 
Majisty,  praying  that  he  would  sheathe  the  sword,  prevent  the  further 
effusion  of  the  blood  of  our  fellow-subjects,  and  adopt  some  mode  of 
negotiation  with  the  general  Congress,  in  compliance  with  their 
repeated  petition,  thereby  restoring  peace  and  harmony  to  this  dis- 
tracted Empire. 


54.  REPLY  TO  THE  DUKE  OE  GRAFTON.  —  Lord  Thurlow 
Edward  Thurlow,  who  rose  to  be  Lord  High  Chancellor  of  Graat  Britain,  was  born  in  1732, 
and  died  in  1806.  Butler,  in  his  "Reminiscences,"  says  :  "  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  hear  hia 
celebrated  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  who  reproached  Lord  Thurlow  with  his  plebeian  extrac- 
tion, and  his  recent  admission  into  the  peerage.  His  Lordship  had  spoken  too  often,  and  began 
to  be  heard  with  a  civil  but  visible  impatience  ;  and,  under  these  circumstances,  he  was  attacked 
in  the  manner  we  have  mentioned.  Lard  Thurlow  rose  from  the  woolsack,  and  advanced  slowly 
to  the  place  from  which  the  Chancellor  generally  addresses  the  House  of  Lords,  and  then,  fix 
in"  on  the  Duke  the  look  of  Jove  when  he  has  grasped  the  thunder,  he  said  (m  a  level  tone  of 
yo'ice),  '  I  am  amazed  at  the  attack  which  the  noble  Duke  has  made  on  me.'  Then,  raismg  hia 
voice,  —  '  Yes,  my  Lords,  I  am  amazed,'  &c." 

I  AM  amazed  at  the  attack  which  the  noble  Duke  has  made  on  me. 
Yes,  my  Lords,  I  am  amazed  at  his  Grace's  speech.  The  noble  Duke 
3annot  look  before  Mm,  behind  him,  or  on  either  side  of  him,  without 
seeing  some  noble  Peer  who  owes  his  seat  in  this  House  to  his  success- 
ful exertions  in  the  profession  to  which  I  belong.  Does  be  not  feel 
that  it  is  as  honorable  to  owe  it  to  these,  as  to  being  the  accident  o/an 
accident  ?  To  all  these  noble  Lords  the  language  of  the  noble  Duke 
is  as  applicable,  and  as  insulting,  as  it  is  to  myself.  But  I  do  not  fear 
to  meet  it  single  and  alone. 

No  one  venerates  the  Peerage  more  than  I  do ;  but,  my  Lords,  I 
must  say  that  the  Peerage  solicited  me,  —  not  I  the  Peerage.  Nay, 
more,  —  I  can  say,  and  will  say,  that,  as  a  Peer  of  Parliament,  as 
Spe^iker  of  this  right  honorable  House,  as  keeper  of  the  great  seal, 
as  guardian  of  his  Majesty's  conscience,  as  Lord  High  Chancellor 
of  England,  —  nay,  even  in  that -character  alone  in  which  the  noblo 
Duke  would  think  it  an  affront  to  be  considered,  but  which  charao- 
^^r  none  can  deny  me,  —  as  a  man,  —  1  am,  at  this  moment,  as  respect- 
ible,  —  I  beg  leave  to  add,  I  am  as  much  respected,  —  as  the  proudest 
Peer  I  now  look  down  upon ! 


U.  WORTH  OF  PRESENT  POPULARITY.  —  Lord  Mansjield.    Born,  1705  ;  died,  1788. 

Against  Parliamentary  exemption  from  arrest  for  debt,  May  9,  1770. 

It  has  been  imputed  to  me  by  the  noble  Earl  *  on  my  left,  that  I 
too,  am  running  the  race  of  popularity.    If  the  noble  Earl  means,  1)J 
*  The  Earl  of  Cb»thuix 


SENATORIAL.  BURKE.  -  jJJS 

pof  darity,  that  applause  bestowed  by  after  ages  on  good  and  virtu 
o\M.  actions,  I  have  long  been  struggling  in  that  race  :  '.o  wl^aL  purpose 
all-trying  Time  can  alone  determine.  But  if  he  means  that  mushroom 
ppularity,  which  is  raised  without  merit,  and  lost  without  a  crime,  he 
is  much  mistaken  in  his  opinion.  I  defy  the  noble  Earl  to  point  out  a 
smgle  action  of  my  life  in  which  the  popularity  of  the  times  ever  had 
the  smallest  influence  on  my  determination.  I  thank  God  I  have  a 
more  permanent  and  steady  rule  for  my  conduct  —  the  dictates  Df  my 
own  breast.  Those  who  have  foregone  that  pleasing  advice,  and  giveu 
up  their  minds  to  the  slavery  of  every  popular  impulse,  I  sincerely 
pity  :  I  pity  them  still  more,  if  vanity  leads  them  to  mistake  the  shouta 
of  a  mob  for  the  trumpet  of  fame.  Experience  might  inform  them 
that  many,  who  have  been  saluted  with  the  huzzas  of  a  crowd  one  day 
have  received  its  execrations  the  next ;  and  many,  who,  by  the  popular-' 
ity  of  their  own  times,  have  been  held  up  as  spotless  patriots,  have, 
■  nevertheless,  appeared  on  the  historian's  page,  when  truth  has  triumphei 
over  delusion,  the  assassins  of  liberty.  Why,  then,  the  noble  Earl  can 
think  I  am  ambitious  of  present  popularity,  that  echo  of  folly  an(? 
shadow  of  renown,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  determine. 

Besides,  I  do  not  know  that  the  Bill  now  before  your  Lordships 
will  be  popular ;  it  depends  much  upon  the  caprice  of  the  day.  It 
may  not  be  popular  to  compel  people  to  pay  their  debts;  and,  in  that 
case,  the  present  must  be  a  very  unpopular  Bill.  It  may  not  be  pop- 
ular,  neither,  to  take  away  any  of  the  privileges  of  Parliament;  for  I 
very  well  remember,  and  many  of  your  Lordships  may  remember, 
that,  not  long  ago,  the  popular  cry  was  for  the  extension  of  privilet^e  • 
and  so  far  did  they  carry  it  at  that  time,  that  it  was  said  the  prfvi- 
lege  protected  members  even  in  criminal  actions ;  nay,  such  was  the 
power  of  popular  prejudices  over  weak  minds,  that  the  very  decisions 
of  some  of  the  courts  were  tinctured  with  that  doctrine.  It  was 
undoubtedly,  an  abominable  doctrine ;  I  thought  so  then,  and  I  think 
so  still ;  but,  nevertheleKs,  it  was  a  popular  doctrine,  and  came  imme- 
diately  from  those  who  are  called  the  friends  of  liberty,  —  how  deserv- 
edly, time  will  show.    True  liberty,  in  my  opinion,  can  only  exist 


When  justice  is  equally  administered  to  all,  —  to  the  king  and  to  the 
beggar  Where  is  the  justice,  then,  or  where  is  the  law,  that  protects 
a  member  of  Parliament,  more  than  any  other  man,  from  the  punish- 
ment  due  to  his  crimes  ?  The  laws  cf  this  country  allow  of  no  place, 
nor  any  employment,  to  be  a  sanctuary  for  crimes ;  and,  where  I  have 
the  honor  to  sit  as  judge,  neither  royal  favor  nor  popular  applause 
snail  ever  protect  the  guilty.  ^ 




86.  MAGNANIMITY  IN  POLITICS,  1775.  -Edmund  Burke.   Born.  1730  ;  -feed.  17S7. 

A  REVENUE  from  America,  transmitted  hither?  Do  not  delude 
yourselves !  You  never  can  receive  it  —  no,  not  a  shilling  !  Let  the 
bclonies  always  keep  the  idea  of  their  civil  rights  associated  with  your 
liovernment,  and  they  will  cling  and  grapple  to  you.    These  j^/ tie. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEE. 

which,  thougli  light  as  air,  are  strong  as  links  of  iron.^  liut  let  u 
once  be  understood  that  your  Government  may  be  one  thing  and  theu 
privileo-es  another,  —  the  cement  is  gone,  the  cohesion  is  loosened . 
Do  no?  entertain  so  weak  an  imagination  as  that  your  registers  and 
your  bonds,  your  affidavits  and  your  sufferances,  your  cockets  and 
your 'clearances,  are  what  form  the  great  securities  of  your  commeros. 
These  thino-s  do  not  make  your  Government.  Dead  mstruments, 
passive  tooFs,  as  they  are,  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  English  communion 
that  gives  all  their  life  and  efficacy  to  them.  It  is  the  spirit  ot  tht 
En^Tlish  Constitution,  which,  infused  through  the  mighty  mass,  peiv 
vades,  feeds,  unites,  invigorates,  vivifies,  every  part  of  the  Empire,  even 
down  to  the  minutest  member. 

Do  you  imagine  that  it  is  the  land  tax  which  raises  your  revenue  ? 
that  it  is  the  annual  vote  in  the  committee  of  supply  which  gives  you 
your  army  ?  or  that  it  is  the  mutiny  bill  which  inspires  it  with  bravery 
and  discipline  ?  No  !  Surely  no  !  It  is  the  love  of  the  People  ;  it  is 
their  attachment  to  their  Government  from  the  sense  of  the  deep  stake 
they  have  in  such  a  glorious  institution,  which  gives  you  your  army 
and  your  navy,  and  infuses  into  both  that  liberal  obedience,  without 
which  your  army  would  be  a  base  rabble,  and  your  navy  nothing  but 
rotten  timber.  -   i  . 

All  this,  I  know  well  enough,  will  sound  wild  aad  chimerical  to  the 
profane  herd  of  those  vulgar  and  mechanical  politicians,  who  have  no 
place  amono-  us;  a  sort  of  people  who  think  that  nothing  exists  but 
what  is  grols  and  material ;  and  who,  therefore,  far  from  being  quali- 
fied to  be  directors  of  the  great  movement  of  Empire,  are  ^^  .^^^ 
turn  a  wheel  in  the  machine.  But,  to  men  truly  initiated  and  rightly 
taught,  these  ruling  and  master  principles,  which,  in  the  opimon  ot 
Buch  men  as  I  have  mentioned,  have  no  substantial  existence,  are,  m 
truth,  everything,  and  all  in  all.  Magnanimity  in  politics  is  not  se  - 
dom  the  truest  wisdom  ;  and  a  great  Empire  and  little  minds  go  ill 
together.  Let  us  get  m  American  revenue,  as  we  have  got  an  Amer- 
ican Empire.  English  privileges  have  made  it  all  that  it  is  ;  English 
privileges  alone  will  make  it  all  it  can  be  !  • 

67.  ENTERPRISE  OP  AMERICAN  COLONISTS,  1115.  — Edmund  Burke. 
Burke,  the  greatest  of  Irish  statesmen,  and  unsurpassed  as  a  writer  f^f 

K'iy".'linTcini.ant  of  symptoms,^  between  the  access  of  ^^^.^  ^^'^J'-^^^J 

5f  heakh ,  ai  1  vvhat  others  conceived  to  be  the  visor  of  h^^"*  C""^  f  ^^V'" 
^vroxysm  of  her  madness  •,  and  then,  prophet-like,  he  pronovuiced  the  destinies  of  I'tance,  a..«l 
iR  his  jrophetic  fury  admonished  nations." 

For  some  time  past,  Mr.  Speaker,  has  the  Old  World  been  M 
from  the  New.  The  scarcity  which  you  have  felt  ./ould  have  been  a 
Icsolating  famine,  if  this  child  of  your  old  age,  — if  A.menca,--j 
With  a  true  aiiai  piety  with  a  RomaD  cl>irity,  had  not  put  the  nil/ 


8ENAT0EIAL.  BCEKE. 


211 


orcastof  Its  ycathfiil  exuberance  to  the  mouth  of  its  ^hausted  parent, 
ruraing  from  the  agricultural  resources  of  the  Colonies,  consider  the 
wealth  wh.ch  they  have  drawn  from  the  sea  by  their  fisheries.  The 
spirit  in  which  that  enterprising  employment  has  been  exercised 
ought  to  raise  your  esteem  and  admiration.    Pray,  Sir,  what  in  the 
worldis  cqua  toit?    Pass  by  the  other  parts,  and  look  at  the  m^ 
Der  m  which  the  People  of  New  England  have  of  late  carried  on  the 
whale  fishery     Whilst  we  follow  them  among  the  tumbling  mountain! 
ofice,  and  behold  them  penetrating  into  the  deepest  frozen  recesses 
of  Hudson's  Bay,  and  Davis'  Straits,  whilst  we  are  looking  for 
them  beneath  the  Arctic  Circle,  we  hear  that  they  have  pierced  into 
the  opposite  region  of  Polar  cold,  that  they  are  at  the  antipodes  and 
engaged  under  the  frozen  serpent  of  the^  South.    Falkland  land 
which  scemed_  too  remote  and  romantic  an  object  for  the  grasp  of 
national  ambition  IS  but  a  stage  and  resting-place  in  the  proircss  of 
their  victorious  industry.    Nor  is  the  equinoctial  heat  more  discour- 
aging  to  them  than  the  accumulated  winter  of  both  the  Poles  We 
inow  that  whilst  some  of  them  draw  the  line  and  strike  the  harpoon 
on  the  coast  of  Africa,  others  run  the  longitude,  and  pursue  fteir 
gigantic  game,  along  the  coast  of  Brazil.    No^ea  but  whal  is  vexed  by 
their  hshcnes.    No  chm.ate  that  is  not  witness  to  tlieir  toils.  Neither 
he  perseverance  of  Holland,  nor  the  activity  of  Prance,  nor  the  dex- 

^In^l^™  fr^*^-1  ^"S''^'^  ""^^''P"^'''        ^""'i^d  this  most 
1.  t\  hardy  industry  to  the  extent  to  which  it  has  been 

pushed  by  his  recent  People    a  People  who  are  still,  as  it  were,  but 

mu  ^T'"'  '■""^  ^""^  '""■'1<^"«<J  i"'"  bone,  of  manhood. 
,  When  I  contemplate  these  things,  -  when  I  know  that  the  Colonies 
m  general  owe  little  or  nothing  to  any  care  of  ours,  and  that  they  ar^ 
no,  squeezed  into  this  happy  form  by  the  constraints  of  a  watchfu 
and  suspicious  Government  but  that,  through  a  wise  and  salutary  neg- 
lec  ,  a  generous  nature  has  been  suffered  to  take  her  own  way  to  pel 
fection,  - when  I  reflect  upon  these  effects,  when  I  see  how  profitable 
they  have  been  to  us  I  feel  all  the  pride  of  power  sink,  and'^alfpr^ 
sumption  m  the  wisdom  of  human  contrivances  melt,  ^nd  die  awav 
withm  me.    My  rigor  relents.    I  pardon  something  t^  the 


68.  ON  AMERICAN  TA.XATION,  Apkil  19,  1774. -H. 

Gmm  anything  be  a  subject  of  more  just  alarm  to  America,  thai 
Is  cJT-^°  ""^  f'"'"  '''Sh  road  of  finance,  and  give  up  yo^ 

most  certain  revenues  and  your  clearest  interests,  merely  for  the  ike 
of  insulting  your  Colonies  ?  No  man  ever  doubted  that  the  coijmi^ity 

wil  be-^rl,  ™  ™P"?i*r  *>-<^<'-P»<'^-  But  no  eoinmodity 
will  bear  tnree-pence,  or  will  bear  a  penny,  when  the  general  feelini 
of  m™  are  irritated,  and  two  millions  of  men  are  resoFved  not  to  paf 

iSritain.    Uenrs  were  formerly  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Hampden,  wi-^ 


THE  stand;ied  speaker 

tailed  upon  for  the  payment  of  twenty  stiffings  Would  twentj 
hU  brh-e  ^"'^'i  Hampden's  fortune?  iHo!  but  the 
n.ent  of  half  twenty  shillings,  on  the  prmciple  i  was  demanded, 
would  have  made  him  a  slave !  It  is  the  r^'fJ^'^A  V^f  t'Z 
which  you  are  so  fond,  and  not  the  weight  of  the  duty,  that  the 
Imericans  are  unable  and  unwUling  to  bear  You  are,  tlfrefore  at 
this  moment,  in  the  awkward  situation  of  fighting  for  »  phantom,  a 
quiddity;  a  thing  that  wants,  not  only  a  substance,  but  even  a 
name!  for  a  thing  which  is  neither  abstract  right,  nor  profitable 

"They  teil  you.  Sir,  that  your  dignity  is  tied  to  it.    I  know  not  ho« 
it  liaopen.,  but  this  dignity  of  yours  is  a  terrible  incumbrance  to  you 
for  it  has  of  late  been  ever  at  war  with  your  interest,  your  equity, 
Sid  every  idea  of  your  policy.    Show  the  thing  you  contend  for  to  be 
^on  show  it  to  be  common  sense,  show  it  to  be  the  means  of 
oUa  nln'  sle  useful  end,  and  then  I  am  content  to  allow  it  what 
d^n™;  you  please.    But  what  dignity  is  derived  f™™ /'j'^  P^g- 
verauce  in  absurdity,  is  more  than  I  ever  could  discern !    Let  us,  bir, 
IXce  on  e  syste^;  or  other  before  w.  end  this  session.    Do  you 
mean  to  tax  America,  and  to  draw  a  productive  revenue  fro»>  ^ 
If  you  do,  speak  out:  name,  fix,  ascertain   his /evenue;  settle  ita 
quantity  ;  define  its  objects  ;  provide  for  its  collection ;  and  then  fight^ 
when  you  h.ave  sometb^ig  to  fight  for.    If  you  mui'der,  rob;  if  you 
km.  take  possession :  and  do  not  appear  in  the  character  of  m^adm  n, 
as  well  as  assassins,  -  violent,  vindictive,  bloody  and  tyraiimeal,  with- 
out  an  object.    But  may  better  counsels  guide  you ! 

69.  DESPOTISM  INCOMPATIBI.E  WITH  RIOHT,  nSS.-M. 

My  Lords,  you  have  now  heard  the  principte  on  which  Mr.  Hsat- 
inas  governs  ihc  part  of  Asia  subjected  to  *e  .Britmh  eminre  Her^ 
he  has  declared  his  opinion,  that  he  is  a  despotic  prince  ;  that  he  is  to 
ul  arbitrary  power  ;  and,  of  course,  all  his  acts  are  covered  wrth  tha 
Sd  "I  know,"  says  he,  "the  Constitution  of  Asia  only  from  ite 
nraHi^e"  Will  TOur  Lordships  submit  to  hear  the  corrupt  practic^ 
rf  mankind  made  the  principles  of  Government  ?  He  have  arb,  rary 
"J^^er'-MrLords,  the  kst-India  Company  have  not  arbitrary 
TOwer  to  give  him  ;  the  King  has  no  arbitrary  power  to  g,™  himj 
Zr  I^rlsWDS  have  not ;  nor"  the  Commons  ;  nor  the  whole  Legida, 
Ce  We  have  no  arbitrary  power  to  give,  because  arbitrary  powet 
brthin7wS  neither  any  man  can  hold  nor  any  man  can  give^ 
L  mln  -cairiawfully  govern  h'imselfaccordm^^^ 
less  can  one  person  be  governed  by  the  wiU  f. 
horn  in  subiection,  —  all  born  equally,  high  and  low,  governors  ana  gov 
S  in  Bubject  on  to  one  great,  immutable,  preexistont  l^'W,  prj"  M 
.1  our  devices,  and  prior  to\ll  our  contrivances.  Paramount  to  all  cm 
ylT  and  to  k  ov!  sensations,  antecedent  to  our  very  exist«n.e,  br 


SENATOKIAL.  —  BnEKB  218 

»liich  wc  are  knit  and  connected  in  the  eterna  W  of  ti.;  univeraa 
put  of  which  we  cannot  stir.  un.»ei8e, 
This  great  law  does  not  arise  from  our  conyeptions  or  compacts  ■  on 
ie  contrary,  it  gives  to  our  conventions  and  compacts  all  the  force  a^d 
^nction  they  can  t?ve;  -it  does  not  arise  from\urvain  insd  u  iom 
fcvery  good  gift  ,s  of  God ,  all  power  is  of  God ;  -  and  He  whoTas  gfyen 
he  power  and  from  whom  alone  it  originates,  will  never  suffer  IS 

Z:::tS   lfft  P'^fr f  ?  foundation  Z  Z 

poiyer  itself.  If,  then  all  dominion  of  man  over  man  is  the  effect  of  the 

wrih'T'"r'        ''"""'l.Vtbe  eternal  laws  of  Him  tha  gave  it! 
with  which  no  human  authority  can  dispense;  neither  he  tha!  ILr 
m  d  e  '  "I'o  ^^-0  ^"bject  to  it;  and,  if  they  were 

mad  enough  to  make  an  express  compact,  that  should  release  tie  r 
magistrate  from  his  duty,  and  should  declare  their  lives,  liber  L  and 
properties,  dependent  upon,  not  rules  and  laws,  but  his  m;re  clpriciou. 
will,  that  covenant  would  be  void.  capiicious 
^  This  arbitrary  power  is  not  to  be  had  by  conquest.  Nor  can  any 
sovereign  have  ,t  by  succession;  fbr  no  man  can  succeed  to  fraud 
rapine,  and  violence.  Those  who  give  and  those  who  rece  ve  arbi- 
SftTkeT  foVr"'''  and  there  is  no  man  but  iXnd  t 
Te  torii  P""'"''  '*  ^1"'"  ^^0^  it«  face  to 

trate  l'd"'^w!f™^  ^^"^  Name  me  a  magis- 

trate,and  I  wil   name  property;  name  me  power,  and  I  will  name 

K  wr,  ^*     '  — iotion  in  terms,  it  is  bla«pheniy  1^1^111" 
IS  wickedness  m  polities,  to  say  that  any  man  can  hive  arMt?a"y 
power.    In  every  patent  of  office  the  duty  is  included.    For  Xt 

rstt?t„    1,  ^       ^",1"^         SO™™'^'^       tti^  eternal  laws  of 

wm  b„f  we  b  f  chains,™  wa 

wdi  ,  but  we  shall  be  made  to  know  ourselves,  and  be  taught  that  man 

fc/itt  rr4tt7 -^"^ 

60.  IMPEACHMENT  OF  WAEREN  HASTINGS,  1788.  ~ /d 

f^^''^^'J'^':f^^^''^tion  of  posterity.    U^sti^is  LrLe^^^  he  believed  an  honest 

STtT    W^""  '^'■'^  half-liour,  I  looked  up  to  thSor  in  T,  J      ''^  '  eloquence  against 

U,  1795.   on  .t,      orAp.i  1,06,  H..S„       ^^^a  ?SXT£e'Xi'^ 

r>f  i^Sp^  'o?  This"-LrM^  tet'  ^-^^     *°  ^^-""^ 


22C  THE.  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

ite  ends  which  all  Governments  ought,  in  common,  to  have  in  vie^ 
In  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  England,  I  charge  all  tbs  vjllanj 
UDon  Wai-ren  Hastings,  in  this  last  moment  of  my  apphcamon  to  you. 
'  My  Lords,  what  is  it  that  we  want  here,  to  a  great  act  of  nationaJ 
lustice  ?  Do  we  want  a  cause,.my  Lords  ?  You  have  the  cause  of 
oppressed  princes,  of  undone  women  of  the  first  rank,  of  desolated 
Provinces,  and  of  wasted  Kingdoms. 

Do  you  want  a  criminal,  my  Lords?  When  was  there  so  much 
iniquity  ever  laid  to  the  charge  of  any  one?— No,  my  Lords  ym 
must  not  look  to  punish  any  other  such  delinquent  from  Lidia. 
Warren  Hastings  has  not  left  substance  enough  m  India  to  nourish 
Buch  another  delinquent.  .  ^  r 

My  Lords,  is  it  a  prosecutor  you  want  ?  You  have  before  you  the 
Commons  of  Great  Britain  as  prosecutors;  and  I  believe  my  Lords, 
that  the  sun,  in  his  beneficent  progress  round  the  world,  docs  noi 
behold  a  more  glorious  sight  than  that  of  men,  separated  from  a  remote 
people  by  the  material  bounds  and  barriers  of  nature,  umted  by  the 
bond  of  a  social  and  moral  community  ;  —  all  the  Comnions  of  Lng- 
laud  resenting,  as  their  own,  the  indignities  and  cruelties  that  are 
offered  to  all  the  people  of  India.  n 

Do  we  want  a  tribunal  ?    My  Lords,  no  example  of  antiqmty, 
nothing  in  the  modern  world,  nothing  in  the  range  of  human  imagin- 
ation,  San  supply  us  with  a  tribunal  like  this.    We  commit  saiely  the 
interests  of  India  and  humanity  into  your  hands.    Therefore,  it  is  • 
with  confidence  that,  ordered  by  the  Commons,  _ 

I  impeach  Warren  Hastings,  Esquire,  of  high  crimes  and  mis- 

demeanors.  ^  „  „     x  -d  -j.  • 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain  m 
Parliament  assembled,  whose  Parliamentary  trust  he  has  betrayed  _ 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  all  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain, 
whose  national  character  he  has  dishonored. 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  the  people  of  India,  whose  laws, 
rights  and  liberties,  he  has  subverted;  whose  properties  he  has 
destroyed  ;  whose  country  he  has  laid  waste  and  desolate.  , 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  and  by  virtue  of  those  eternal  laws  of 
lustice  which  he  has  violated.  , .  i  i 

I  impeach  him  in  the  name  of  human  nature  itself,  which  he  has 
smelly  outraged,  injured  and  oppressed,  in  both  sexes,  m  every  age 
rank,  situation,  and  condition  of  life. 

61.  PERORATION  AGAINST  WARREN  HASTINGS. -£dmund  Burke. 

My  Lords,  at  this  awful  close,  in  the  name  of  the  Commons,  ana 
njrrounded  by  them,  I  attest  the  retiring,  I  attest  the  advancmg  gener- 
ttions,  between  which,  as  a  link  in  the  great  chain  of  eternal  order,  we 
,tand.  We  call  this  Nation,  we  call  the  world  to  witness,  that  the  Oom- 
mons  have  shrunk  from  no  labor ;  that  we  have  been  guilty  of  no  pro- 
iraricatioP  ^hat  we  have  made  na  compromise  with  crime;  thai  we  ha?« 


SENATOJIIAL.  BUaKE. 


221 


ttct  feared  any  odium  whatsoever,  in  the  long  warfare  which  we  aave 
earned  on  with  the  crimes,  with  the  vices,  with  the  exorbitant  wealth, 
with  the  enormous  and  overpowering  influence  of  Eastern  corruption. 

My  Lords,  it  has  pleased  Providence  to  place  us  in  such  a  stat* 
that  we  appear  every  moment  to  be  upon  the  verge  of  some  great 
mutations.  There  is  one  thing,  and  one  thing  only,  wtiich  defies  all 
mutation :  that  which  existed  before  the  world,  and  will  survive  the 
fabric  of  the  world  itself,  —  I  mean  justice  ;  that  justice  which,  ema- 
nating from  the  Divinity,  has  a  place  in  the  breast  of  every  one  of  us, 
given  us  for  our  guide  with  regard  to  ourselves  and  with  regard  to 
others,  and  which  will  stand,  after  this  globe  is  burned  to  ashes,  our 
advocate  or  our  accuser,  before  the  great  Judge,  when  He  comes  to  call 
upon  us  for  the  tenor  of  a  well-spent  life. 

My  Lords,  the  Commons  will  share  in  every  fate  with  your  Lord- 
ships ;  there  is  nothing  sinister  which  can  happen  to  vou,  in  which  we 
shall  not  all  be  involved;  and,  if  it  should  so  happen  that  we  shall  be 
subjected  to  some  of  those  frightful  changes  which  we  have  seen,— 
if  It  should  happen  that  your  Lordships,  shipped  of  all  the  decorous 
distinctions  of  human  society,  should,  by  hands  at  once  base  and  cruel, 
be  led  to  those  scaflfolds  and  machines  of  murder  upon  which  great 
kings  and  glorious  queens  have  shed  their  blood,  amidst  the  prelates, 
amidst  the  nobles,  amidst  the  magistrates,  who  supported  their  thrones, 
—  may  you  m  those  moments  feel  that  consolation  which  I  am  per- 
suaded they  felt  in  the  critical  moments  of  their  dreadful  a^rony! 

My  Lords,  if  you  must  fall,  may  you  so  fall !  but,  if  you  stand,— 
and  stand  I  trust  you  will,  —  together  with  the  fortune  of  this  ancient 
monarchy,  together  with  the  ancient  laws  and  liberties  of  this  great 
and  illustrious  Kingdom,  may  you  stand  as  unimpeached  in  honor  as 
in  power;  may  you  stand,  not  as  a  substitute  for  virtue,  but  as  an 
ornament  of  virtue,  as  a  security  for  virtue;  may  you  stand  long,  and 
l^ng  stand  the  terror  of  tyrants  ;  may  you  stand  the  refuge  of  afflicted 
i^ations  ;  may  you  stand  a  sacred  temple,  for  the  pei-petual  residence 
01  an  inviolable  justice  ! 


62.  TO  THE  ELECTORS  OF  BmSTOL.- Edmund  Burke. 

Gentlemen,  I  have  had  my  day.  I  can  never  sufficiently  express 
my  gratitude  unto  you  for  having  set  me  in  a  place  wherein  I  could 
lend  the  slightest  help  to  great  and  laudable  designs.  If  I  have  had 
roy  share  in  any  measure  giving  quiet  t6  private  property  and  private 
conscience ;  if  by  my  vote  I  have  aided  in  securing  to  families  the  best 
possession,  peace;  if  I  have  joined  in  reconciling  kings  to  their  sub- 
jects, and  subjects  to  their  prince;  if  I  have  assisted  to  loosen  the 
toreign  holdings  of  the  citizen,  and  taught  him  to  look  for  his  protee- 
tion  to  the  laws  of  his  country,  and  for  his  comfort  to  the  good  will  of 
his  countrymen  :  if  I  have  thus  taken  my  part  with  the  h.st  of  men 
^n  the  best  of  their  actions,  -  I  can  shut  the  book  ;  —  I  might  wish 


222 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER- 


to  read  a  pag-e  or  two  more,  —  but  this  is  enougli  fci  my  measure.  1 
Uave  not  lived  in  vain. 

Aod  now,  Gentlemen,  on  this  serious  day,  when  I  come,  as  it  were, 
to  make  up  my  account  with  you,  let  me  take  to  myself  some  degree 
of  honest  pride,  on  the  nature  of  the  charges  that  are  against  me.  I 
do  not  here  stand  before  you  accused  of  venality,  or  of  neglect  of  duty. 
It  is  not  said  that,  in  the  long  period  of  my  service,  I  have,  m  a  smgla 
instance,  sacrificed  the  slightest  of  your  interests  to  my  ambition,  or  to 
my  fortune.  It  is  not  alleged  that,  to  gratify  any  anger  or  revenge 
of  my  own,  or  of  my  party,  I  have  had  a  share  m  wrongmg  or  oppress- 
ing any  description  of  men,  or  any  one  man  in  any  description.  No  I 
the  charges  against  me  are  all  of  one  kind,  — that  I  have  pushed  the 
principles  of  general  justice  and  benevolence  too  far,  —  farther  than  a 
cautious  policy  would  warrant,  and  further  than  the  opinions  of  many 
would  go  along  with  me.  In  every  accident  which  may  happen 
through  life,  —  in  pain,  in  sorrow,  in  depression  and  distress,  —  I  will 
3all  to  mind  this  accusation,  and  be  comforted. 


63.  MARIE  ANTOINETTE,  1790  *    —  Edmund  Burke. 

It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of 
France,  then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles  ;  and  surely  never  hghted 
on  this  orb,  which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more  delightful  visiom 
I  saw  her  just  above  the  horizon,  decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated 
sphere  she  just  began  to  move  in,  —  glittering  like  the  mornmg  star, 
♦uU  of  life,  and  splendor,  and  joy.  O  !  what  a  revolution !  and  what 
a  heart  must  I  have,  to  contemplate  without  emotion  that  elevation 
and  that  fall !  Little  did  I  dream,  when  she  added  titles  of  venera- 
tion to  those  of  enthusiastic,  distant,  respectful  love,  that  she  should 
ever  be  obliged  to  carry  the  sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed 
in  that  bosom  ;  little  did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such 
disasters  fallen  upon  her,  in  a  Nation  of  gallant  men,  m  a  Nation  ot  men 
of  honor,  and  of  cavaliers !  I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have 
leaped  from  their  scabbards,  to  avenge  even  a  look  that  threatened  her 

vith  insult.  „      ,  .  •  j.  ^ 

But  the  ao-e  of  chivalry  is  gone  ;  that  of  sophisters,  economists  and 
calculators,  has  succeeded;  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is  extinguished 
forever  Never,  never  more,  shall  we  behold  that  generous  loyalty  to 
rank  and  sex,  that  proud  submission,  that  dignified  obedience,  that 
Bubordination  of  the  heart,  which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itselt, 
the  spirit  of  an  exalted  freedom  !  The  unbought  grace  of  lite,  the 
cheap  defence  of  Nations,  the  nurse  of  manly  sentiment_  and  heroic 
enterprise,  is  gone  !  It  is  gone,  that  sensibility  of  pnncipl'>,  that 
smistity  of  honor,  which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound  which  inspired 
-ouv'Je  whilst  it  mitigated  ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  i 
touched,  and  under  which  vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil,  by  losing  aU 
ltd  arTossness- 

*  Born,  1755  :  beheaded,  1792. 


SENATORIAL.  GRATTAN  225 

64.  J)ECf.ARATI(3N  OF  IRISH  RIGHTS,  1780.  -  tfenr^,  Gra«an 

renowned  of  Irish  orators,  vras  born  In  Dublin  en  thfi  3^  «r 

earnest  advocate  of  vhe  entire  emancipation  of  the  Cathoifcs  from^Jl  nv  d?>n^  f  ^  """'i 
J.ere  delivered  before  the  popular  branch  of  tL  ?mper^S  pSl^nt    Of  Grm  '.'^ 

Sir,  I  have  entreated  an  attendance  on  this  day,  that  you  might  in 
the  most  pubhc  manner,  deny  the  claim  of  the  British  Parliament  to 
make  law  for  Ireland,  and  with  one  voice  lift  up  jour  hands  a^rainst 
It.    i^ngland  now  smarts  under  the  lesson  of  the  American  war°  her 
enemies  are  a  host,  pouring  upon  her  from  all  quarters  of  the  earth 
her  armies  are  dispersed;  the  sea  is  not  hers  ;  she  has  no  minister,  no 
ally  no  admiral,  none  in  whom  she  long  confides,  and  no  general  whom 
Bhe  has  not  disgraced ;  the  balance  of  her  fate  is  in  the  hands  of  Ire- 
land; you  are  not  only  her  last  connection,  —  you  are  the  only  Nation 
m  J^urope  that  is  not  her  enemy.    Let  corruption  tremble;"  but  let 
the  friends  of  liberty  rejoice  at  these  means  of  safety,  and  this  hour  of 
redemption.    You  have  done  too  much  not  to  do  more ;  you  have  gone 
too  tar  not  to  go  on  ;  you  have  brought  yourselves  into  that  situation 
m  which  you  must  silently  abdicate  the  rights  of  your  country,  or 
publicly  restore  them.    Where  is  the  freedom  of  trade?    Where  is 
the  security  of  property?    Where  is  the  liberty  of  the  People?  I 
therefore  say,  nothing  is  safe,  satisfactory  or  honorable,  nothing  except 
a  declaration  of  rights    What !  are  you,  with  three  hundred  thousand 
men  at  your  back,  with  charters  in  one  hand  and  arms  in  the  other 
airaid  to  say  you  are  a  free  People  ?    If  England  is  a  tyrant,  it  is  you 
have  made  her  so;  it  is  the  slave  that  makes  the  tyrant,  and  then 
murmurs  at  the  master  whom  he  himself  has  constituted. 
^  The  British  minister  mistakes  the  Irish  character;  had  he  intended 
to  make  Ireland  a  slave,  he  should  have  kept  her  a  beggar.    There  m 
no  middle  policy:  win  her  heart  by  the  restoration  of  her  ric^hts,  or 
Zlrl  '  "^u'      ^'.,gi-^^%  emancipate,  or  fundanTentally 

destroy.  We  may  talk  plausibly  to  England,  but  so  lone  as  she 
exercises  a  power  to  bind  this  country,  so  long  are  the  Nations  in  a 
state  of  war;  the  claims  of  the  one  go  against  the  liberty  of  the  other 

dri  nf  T*"ki"*'/^  ^'t^^''  SO  to  oppose  those  claims  to  the  las 
diop  of  her  blood.  The  English  opposition,  therefore,  are  light; 
mere  trade  will  not  satisfy  Ireland.  They  judge  of  us  b;  other  |rea 
Nations;  by  the  Nation  whose  political  life  has  been  a  strugc^lf  for 
iberty,- America!  They  judge  of  us  with  a  true  knowledge  and 
dst  deference  for  our  characte  that  a  country  enlightened  a^  Ir^ 
^^1  b!  rT^  Ire  .and,  armed  as  Ireland,  and  injured  as  Ireland 
will  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  liberty. 
I  mi^ht.  as  a  constituent,  come  to  your  bar  and  demand  my  libertv 


224  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

r  call  upon  you,  W  the  laws  of  the  land  and  their  violataon  by  th. 
„stru«  o7o?  eighteen  centuries,  by  the  arms,  insp,rat,on  and  prov- 
"^he  present  moment,  tell  us  the  rule  ^7^^*/%  wlllfo; 

the  law  of  Ireland ;  declare  the  liberty  of  the  bud.    I  wil  uol 
^answered  by  a  public  lie  in  the  shape  of  an  amendment;  neither 
™aS  for  the  subject's  freedom,  am  I  to  hear  of  faction     I  w^h 
rnoufing  but  to  breathe,  in  this  our  island,  in  common  with  my  id- 
,V,1„P°-  the  air  of  liberty.    I  have  no  ambition,  unless  it  be  the 
^^bSX  b  e  r;„„  ch^in!  and  contemplate  your  glory.    I  neyer 
1  be  °aiisfied  so  long  as  the  meanest  cottager  m  Ireland  has  a  link 

with  the  prophet,  but  survive  him. 

65  REPLY  TO  MR.  FLOOD,  IISZ.- Henry  Grattan. 
Attheti^eof  this  ^peech  in  the  l.ish  Fl^d  ^^^^ 

friends,  stood  hefore  the  British  pi^^hc  as  ma^^^^^^^^  ^   ,p,^king  of  his  oppc^ 

them  ;  au.l  Grattat,  havin-  !^/^f;f,,7^^f,^/,^  ,  "  'jtrgreat  asperity,  denouncing  Urattan  as  "  a 
uent's  "affectation  of  '"^11^"^^^' '  sum  of  money,  then  sold  his  country  for 

oiendicant  patriot,"  who,  "bought  country  j^^^.^  Chatham."  To  these 

prompt  payment."  He  also  sneered  at  J|;;"tm„nt  o  which  we  here  give.  An  arrangement  for 
Lnts  Grattan  replied      ^  ^l^'^^t'des  wa^the  «  of  this  speech-,  but  Flood  was 

of  political  dissolution.    I  will  suppose  l^™'  '"  Xve  been  "corrupt ; 

«fe^  to  have  b.en  i-t-P-J^^'^t^rcrve^omed"^^^^^^^^^ 
and  in  the  last,  seditious ;  -  that,  ='"6^  an  en  ^^^^^ 
sons  and  measures  of  a  suceession  "^^'^^^y.^^^ne  ^^^^^ 
tion  agamst  their  profusion  of  ministei-s  had 

from  ours,  1  will  suppose  i.uio  f,  „„^:„„,  i,„„  liberty,  and  voted 
decided  and  unreserved  ;  that  he  voted  agamst  her^'^«  > 

:„oreovc,^  fbr  ^^e  c^M  t^f  bu^^^^  -S- 

thr«iteof  thc.Ymencans;  *.vt  he  ^al  ed  t  les  .  i,,-,^ 


^t^J^ZZl'^:^'^^       the  liberties  of  manVi.. 


SENATORIAL.  GRATTAN  22<) 

rh-ds  defective  in  every  relationship,  whether  to  constitution  oom- 
merce,  and  toleration,  I  will  suppose  this  man  to  have  added  mu^b 
Dnvate  improbity  to  public  crimes ;  that  his  probity  was  like  his 
patriotism,  and  his  honor  on  a  level  with  his  oath.  Ho  loves  t-o 
dehvcr  panegyrics  on  himself.    I  will  interrupt  him,  and  say  : 

dir,  you  are  much  mistaken  if  you  think  that  your  talents  have  b^eo 
•  as  great  as  your  life  has  been  reprehensible.    You  began  your  paHia- 
mentary  career  with  an  acrimony  and  personality  which  could  hava 
been  justified  only  by  a  supposition  of  virtue  ;  after  a  rank  and  clarior- 
ous  opposition,  you  became,  on  a  sudden,  silent ;  you  were  silent  foi 
seven  years  ;  you  were  silent  on  the  greatest  questions,  and  you  were 
siiOrit  for  money!    You  supported  the  unparalleled  profusion  and 
jobbing  of  Lord  Harcourt's  scandalous  ministry.     You,  Sir  who 
manufacture  stage  thunder  against  Mr.  Eden  for  his  anti-Amedcan 
principles,  —  you.  Sir,  whom  it  pleases  to  chant  a  hymn  to  the  immor- 
tal Hampden  ;  —  you.  Sir,  approved  of  the  tyranny  exercised  a/rainst 
America,  — and  you,  Sir,  voted  four  thousand  Irish  troops  to  cut  ^l^e 
throats  of  the  Americans  fighting  for  their  freedom,  fighting  for  your 
freedom,  fighting  for  the  great  principle,  liberty  !    But  you  found,  at 
last,  that  the  Court  had  bought,  but  would  not  trust  you.  Mortified 
at  the  aiSGOvery,  you  try  the  sorry  game  of  a  trimmer  in  your  proo-resa 
to  the  acts  of  an  incendiary  ;  and  observing,  with  regard  to  PrinJ  and 
People,  the  most  impartial  treachery  and  desertion,  you  justify  the  sus- 
^'iT""!.   rf''''.  Sovereign  by  betraying  the  Government,  as  you  had 
sold  the  People.    Such  has  been  your  conduct,  and  at  such  conduct 
every  order  of  your  fellow-subjects  have  a  right  to  exclaim'  The 
merchant  may  say  to  you,  the  constitutionalist  n.uy  say  to  you  the 
American  may  say  to  you,  —  and  I,  I  now  say,  and  say  to  your  beard, 
bir,  —  you  are  not  an  honest  man ! 


66.  NATIONAL  GRATITUDE,  1780.  -  ^enry  Gra«an. 

I  SHALL  hear  of  ingratitude.  I  name  the  argument  to  despise  it 
and  the  men  who  make  use  of  it.  I  know  the  men  who  use  it  are  not 
grateful :  they  are  insatiate  ;  they  are  public  extortioners,  who  would 
stop  the  tide  of  public  prosperity,  and  turn  it  to  the  channel  of  their 
own  emolument.  I  know  of  no  species  of  gratitude  which  should 
prevent  my  country  from  being  free;  no  gratitude  which  should 
oblige  Ireland  to  be  the  slave  of  England.  In  cases  of  robbery  and 
usurpation,  nothing  is  an  object  of  gratitude  except  the  thin^  stolen,  the 
charter  spoliated.  A  x>fation's  liberty  cannot,  like  her  treasure,  be 
Eieted  and  parcelled  out  in  gratitude.  No  man  can  be  grateful  or  lib- 
eral  of  his  conscience,  nor  woman  of  her  honor,  nor  Nation  of  her  lib- 
ertj  ihere  are  certain  unimpartable,  inherent,  invaluable  properties, 
not  to  be  alienated  from  the  person,  whether  body  politic  or  body  nafc- 
aral.  \Vith  the  same  contempt  do  I  treat  that  charge  which  says  thai 
Ireland  IS  insatiable;  saying  that  Ireland  asks  nothing  but  that  which 
Wreat  I^ntam  has  robbed  her  of,  —  her  rights  a»d  privileges.  To  sa^. 
1 5 


2^  THE  STA:7»>A.-  »  SPEAKUR. 

that  relaud  will  not  be  satisfied  with  liberty,  because  she  is  not  ^tii^ 
fied  ^ith  slavery,  is  folly.    I  laugh  at  that  man  who  supposes  tkat 
Ireland  will  not  be  content  with  a  free  trade  and  a  free  Constitutjon 
and  would  any  man  advise  her  to  be  content  with  less  ? 


67.  DISQL-mFICATION  OP  ROMAN  CATHOLICS,  1793.  -  ffenrj  ?  Man 

rou  are  struggling  with  difficulties,  you  ima^ne  ;  you  are  ff.is. 
taken,  -  you  are  struggling  with  impossibilities.  In  making  laws  on 
^e  subiect  of  religion!  legislators  forget  mankind,  until  their  own  dis- 
traction  admonishes  them^of  two  truths ;- the  one,  that  there  is  a  God ; 
the  other,  that  there  is  a  People!  Never  was  it  permitted  to  any 
Nation,-they  miy  perplex  their  understandings  with  various  apolo- 
'les,_:but  never  was  it  long  permitted  to  exclude  from  essential, 
from  what  they  themselves  have  pronounced  essential  blessings,— a 
jn-eat  portion  of  themselves  for  a  period  of  time ;  and  for  no  reason,  or, 
what  is  worse,  for  such  reasons  as  you  have  advanced. 

Conquerors,  or  tyrants  proceeding  from  ^^'^'^''^J''^'^.'^^^^^ 
ever  for  any  length  of  time  governed  by  those  partial  disabilities ,  but 
a  People  so^o  govern  itself,or,  rather,  under  the  name  of  Government 
so  to  exclude  itself,  -  the  industrious,  the  opu  ent,  the  ^f  ^fui  "-  th^ 
part  that  feeds  you  with  its  industry,  and  supplies  you  with  its  taxes 
weaves  that  you  may  wear,  and  ploughs  that  you  may  eat,  -  to  exclude 
a  body  so  useful,  so  numerous,  and  that  forever  !  -  and,  m  the  mean 
time,  to  tax  them  ad  libitum,  and  occasionally  to  pledge  their  liv^ 
and  fortunes  !  -for  what  ?  -  for  their  disfranchisemen  !  -  it  can- 
not  be  done!    Continue  it,  and  you  expect  from  your  laws  what  it 
were  blasphemy  to  ask  of  your  Maker.    Such  a  policy  always  turns 
Ttlie  inventor!  and  bruises  him  under  the  stroke  of  the  sceptre  or  the 
sword,  or  sinks  him  under  accumulations  of  debt  and  loss  of  domimon 
Need  I  go  to  instances  ?    What  was  the  case  of  Ireland  enslaved  for 
a  centurv  and  withered  and  blasted  with  her  Protestant  ascendency, 
nke  a  s^^^^^^^^    oak  scathed  on  its  hill  by  the  fires  of  its  own  mtol- 
erance?    What  lost  England  America,  but  such  a  policy?  An 
attempt  to  bind  men  by  a  Parliament,  wherein  they  are  not  repre- 
'ented '    Such  an  attempt  as  some  wo.^M  now  contmue  to  practise  on 
fe  Catholics  !    Has  you'r  pity  traversed  leagues  of  -  to  f  ^^^^^^^^^ 
the  black  boy  on  the  coast  of  Guinea,  -  and  have  you  lorgo^.  the  man  ^ 
home  by  your  side,  your  brother  ? 

FIGlHTl  ON  THE  SIDE  OF  A  GREAT  PRINCIPLE.-  Gr«f«« 

The  Kingdom  of  Ireland,  with  her  imperial  crown,  stands  at  yoT« 
Bar.  She  applies  for  the  civil  liberty  of  three-fourths  of  her  childi^i. 
Will  you  dismiss  her  without  a  hearing  ?  You  cannot  do  it .  i  sa^ 
you  cannot  finally  do  it!  The  interest  of  your  country  would  not  «^ 
^rt  you;  tb3  feelings  of  your  -country  would  not  supyiort  you  .  it  « 


SENATORIAL.  —  GRATTAN. 


227 


I  froceedrng  that  ^^noot  long  be  persisted  in.  No  courtier  so  devoted^ 
no  politician  so  hardened,  no  conscience  so  capacious !  I  am  not  afraid 
of  occasional  majorities.  A  majority  cannot  overlay  a  great  priuci. 
pie  (xod  will  guard  His  own  cause  against  rank  majoritTes.  Ln  vais 
shall  men  appeal  to  a  church-cry,  or  to  a  mock-thunder;  the  proprie. 
tor  of  the  bolt  is  on  the  side  of  the  People. 

^  It  was  the  expectation  of  the  repeal  of  Catholic  disability  wh'ohaa?-. 
ned  the  Union.  Should  you  wish  to  support  the  minister  of  the  cro^  a 
against  the  People  of  Ireland,  retain  the  Union,  nd  perpetuate  the 
disqualification,  the  consequence  must  be  something  more  tlian  aliena- 
tion. When  you  finally  decide  against  the  Catholic  question,  you 
abandon  the  idea  of  governing  Ireland  by  affection,  and  you  adopt  the 
idea  ot  coercion  m  its  place.  You  are  pronouncing  the  doom  of  Eno-- 
land.  If  you  ask  how  the  People  of  Ireland  feel  towards  you,  alk 
yourselves  how  you  would  feel  towards  us,  if  we  disqualified  three- 
fourths  of  the  People  of  England  forever.  The  day  you  finally  ascertain 
the  disqualification  of  the  Catholic,  you  pronounce  the  doom  of  Great 
Uritam.  It  is  just  it  should  be  so.  The  King  who  takes  away  the 
liberty  of  his  subjects  loses  his  Crown;  the  People  who  take  away  tlie 
liberty  of  their  fellow-subjects  lose  their  empire.  The  scales  of  your 
own  destinies  are  in  your  own  hands;  and  if  you  throw  out  the  civil 
liberty  of  the  Irish  Catholic,  depend  on  it,  Old  England  will  be  weio-hed 
m  the  balance,  and  found  wanting:  you  will  then  have  du<r  your^owa 
grave,  and  you  may  write  your  own  epitaph  thus  r  —  "  England  died 

BECAUSE  SHE  TAXED  AmeRICA,  AND  DISQUALIFIED  IreLAND  " 


69.    INVECTIVE  AGAINST  MR.  CORRY,  1800.  -Henry  Grattan. 
A  duel,  in  which  Mr.  Corry  was  wounded  in  the  arm,  was  the  sequel  to  this  sneprh  Th« 
Unmediate  provocat  on  of  the  speech  was  a  remark  from'Corry,  that  Grattan  instead  of\avl?^ 
a  voice  m  the  councns  of  his  country,  should  have  been  standing  as  a  culS'at  he?Lr.  ^ 

Has  the  gentleman  done?  Has  he  completely  done?  He  waa 
unparliamentary  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  speech  There 
was  scarce  a  word  that  he  uttered  that  was  not  a  violation  of  the  privi- 
leges  of  the  House.  But  I  did  not  call  him  to  order.  Why?  Because 
the  limited  talents  of  some  men  render  it  impossible  for  them  to  be 
severe  without  being  unparliamentary.  But  before  I  sit  down  T  shall 
show  him  how  to  be  severe  and  parliamentary  at  the  same  time  On 
any  other  occasion,  I  should  think  myself  justifiable  in  treatinc.  with 
sdent  contempt  anything  which  might  fall  from  that  honorable  member : 
l  ilt  there  are  times  when  the  insignificance  of  the  accuser  is  lost  in  the 
magnitude  of  the  accusation.  I  know  the  difficulty  the  honorable  gen- 
vxoman  labored  under  when  he  attacked  me,  conscious  that,  on  a  com- 
parative  view  of  our  characters,  public  and  private,  there  is  nothincrha 
could  say  which  would  injure  me.  The  public  would  not  believe  ''the 
L'harge ,  I  despise  the  falsehood.  If  such  a  charge  were  made  by  aa 
jonest  imn,  I  would  answer  it  in  the  maimer  I  shall  do  before  I  sit 
40WU.    But  I  shaU  first  reply  to  it  when  not  made  by  ar  honesr  maa 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


The  iight  honorable  gentleman  has  called  me" an unirapeaehed trsi 
tor."    I  ask,  why  not  "  traitor,"  unqualified  by  any  epithet  «    I  wil 
tell  him  ;  it  was  because  he  dare  not !    It  was  the  act  ol  a  coward  wh< 
raises  his  arm  to  strike,  but  has  not  courage  to  give  the  blow '   I  will 
not  call  him  villain,  because  it  would  be  unparliameiitary,  and  he  is  a 
»rivy  councillor.    I  will  not  call  him  fool,  because  he  happens  to  ^ 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer.    But  I  say  he  is  one  who  has  abused  the 
privrilege  of  Parliament  and  freedom  of  debate,  to  the  uttering  Ian- 
eoage,  which,  if  spoken  out  of  the  House,  I  should  answer  only  with  a 
Mow !    I  care  not  how  high  his  situation,  how  low  his  character,  how 
contemptible  his  speech;  whether  a  privy  councillor  or  a  parasite,  my 
answer  would  be  a  blow  !    He  has  charged  me  with  being  connected 
with  the  rebels.    The  charge  is  utterly,  totally,  and  meanly  false  ! 
i^oes  the  honorable  gentleman  rely  on  the  report  of  the  House  of  Lords 
lor  the  foundation  of  his  assertion  ?    If  he  does,  I  can  prove  to  the 
committee  there  was  a  physical  impossibility  of  that  report  being  true. 
But  I  scorn  to  answer  any  man  for  my  conduct,  whether  he  be  apolit- 
ical coxcomb,  or  whether  he  brought  himself  into  power  by  a  false 
glare  of  courage  or  not.  _  •  i  ^ 

I  have  returned,  not,  as  the  right  honorable  member  has  said,  to 
raise  another  storm,  —  I  have  returned  to  discharge  an  honorable  debt 
of  gratitude  to  my  country,  that  conferred  a  great  reward  for  past 
services,  which,  I  am  proud  to  say,  was  not  greater  than  my  desert 
I  have  returned  to  protect  that  Constitution,  of  which  I  was  the  parent 
and  the  founder,  from  the  assassination  of  such  men  as  the  honorable 
gentleman  and  his  unworthy  associates.  They  are  corrupt  —  they  are 
seditious  —  and  they,  at  this  very  moment,  are  in  a  conspiracy  against 
their  country  !  I  have  returned  to  refute  a  libel,  as  false  as  it  is  mail- 
eious,  given  to  the  public  under  the  appellation  of  a  report^  of  the 
committee  of  the  Lords.  Here  I  stand  for  impeachment  or  trial  i  L 
dare  accusation !  I  defy  the  honorable  gentleman  !  I  defy  the  W- 
ernment !  I  defy  their  whole  phalanx !  —  let  them  come  forth !  I  tell 
the  ministers  I  shall  neither  give  them  quarter  nor  take  it !  1  am 
Here  to  lay  the  shattered  remains  of  my  constitution  on  the  floor  ot 
this  House,  in  defence  of  the  liberties  of  my  country. 


70.    UNION  WITH  GREAT  BRITAIN,  1800  —Henry  Grattan. 

Tee  minister  misrepresents  the  sentiments  of  the  People,  as  he  hM 
fcefore  traduced  their  reputation.  He  asserts,  that  after  a  calm  and 
mature  consideration,  they  have  pronounced  their  judgment  in  favor  ot 
»n  Union.  Of  this  assertion  not  one  syllable  has  any  existence  in 
fact,  or  in  the  appearance  of  fact.  I  appeal  to  the  petitions  of  twenty- 
one  counties  in  evidence.  To  affirm  that  the  judgment  of  a  Nation 
agamst  is  for  ;  to  assert  that  she  has  said  ay  when  she  rias  pronounced 
no  '  to  make  the  falsification  of  her  sentiments  the  foundation  of  hei 
Tuin  and  the  ground  of  the  Union;  to  affirm  that  her  Parliament 


SENATORIAL.  GRATTAN 


fJoistitution,  liberty,  honor,  property,  are  taken  away  her  owd 
authority,  —  ohere  is,  in  such  artifice,  an  eifrontery,  a  hardihood,  aa 
insensibility,  that  can  best  be  answered  by  sensations  of  astonishment 
and  disgust. 

The  Constitution  may  be  for  a  thne  so  lost.  The  character  of  the 
country  cannot  be  so  lost.  The  ministers  of  the  Crown  will,  or  may, 
perhaps,  at  length  find  that  it  is  not  so  easy,  by  abilities  however  great^ 
and  by  power  and  corruption  however  irresistible,  to  put  down  forever 
an  ancient  and  respectable  Naliop.  Liberty  may  repair  her  goldeo 
beams,^  and  with  redoubled  heat  animate  the  country.  The  cry  of  loy- 
alty will  not  long  continue  against  the  principles  of  liberty.  Loyalty 
is  a  noble,  a  judicious,  and  a  capacious  principle;  but  in  these  coun- 
tries loyalty,  distinct  from  liberty,  is  corruption,  not  loyalty. 

The  cry  of  disaffection  will  not,  in  the  end,  avail  against  the  princi- 
ple of  liberty.  I  do  not  give  up  the  country.  I  see  her  in  a  swoon, 
but  she  is  not  dead.  Though  in  her  tomb  she  lies  helpless  and  motion- 
less,  still  there  is  on  her  lips  a  spirit  of  life,  and  on  her  cheek  a  glow 
of  beauty : 

"  Thou  art  not  conquered;  beauty's  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips,  and  in  thy  cheeks. 
And  Death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there." 

While  a  plank  of  the  vessel  sticks  together,  I  will  not  leave  her.  Let 
the  courtier  present  his  flimsy  sail,  and  carry  the  light  bark  of  hia 
faith  with  every  new  breath  of  wind;  I  will  remain  anchored  here, 
with  fidelity  to  the  fortunes  of  my  country,  faithful  to  her  freedom, 
feithful  to  her  fall !" 


71.  THE  CATHOLIC  QUESTION,  1805.  -  Henry  Grattan. 

The  Parliament  of  Ireland  !  —  of  that  assembly  I  have  a  pare-tal 
recollection.   I  sate  by  her  cradle,  —  I  followed  her  hearse  !   In  four- 
teen  years  she  acquired  for  Ireland  what  you  did  not  acquire  for  Eng- 
land in  a  century,  —  freedom  of  trade,  independency  of  the  Legislature 
independency  of  the  judges,  restoration  of  the  final  judicature,  repeal 
ci  a  perpetual  mutiny  bill,  habeas  corpus  act,  nullum  tempus  act  —  a 
great  work  !   You  wUl  exceed  it,  and  I  shall  rejoice.    I  call  my  coun^ 
trymen  to  witness,  if  in  that  business  I  compromised  the  claims  of  my" 
ceuntry,  or  temporized  with  the  power  of  England ;  but  there  was  om 
thing  which  baffled  the  effort  of  the  patriot,  and  defeated  the  wisdom 
ot  the  benate,  —  it  was  the  folly  of  the  theologian !    When  the  Par. 
liament  of  Ireland  rejected  the  Catholic  petition,  and  assented  to  the 
calumnies  then  uttered  against  the  Catholic  body,  on  that  day  she 
voted  the  Union :  if  -ou  should  adopt  a  similar  conduct,  on  that  day 
you  will  vote  the  separation.   Many  good  and  pious  reasons  you  may 
give;  many  good  and  pious  reasons  she  gave;  and  she  lies  there,  with 
her  many  good  and  pious  reasons  !    That  the  Parliament  of  Ireland 
should  lave  entertained  prejudices.  I  am  not  astonished;  but  that  you, 
-that  you,  who         a*3  individuals  and  as  conquerors,  visited  a  great 


2S0 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


part  of  the  globe,  and  have  seen  men  in  all  their  modifications,  a  *i 
Providence  in  alf  her  ways,  —  that  you,  now,  at  this  time  of  day,  shoidd 
throw  up  dikes  against  the  Pope,  and  barriers  against  the  Catholic^ 
instead  of  uniting  with  that  Catholic  to  throw  up  barriers  against  the 
French,  this  surprises  •  and,  .a  addition  to  this,  that  you  should  huve 
set  up  the  Pope  in  Italy,  to  tremble  at  him  in  Ireland;  and,  further, 
that  you  should  have  professed  to  have  placed  yourself  at  the  head  of 
a  Christian,  uot  a  Protestant  league,  to  defend  the  civil  and  religiom 
liberty  of  Europe,  and  should  deprive  of  their  civil  liberty  one-fifth  of 
yourselves-,  on  account  of  their  religion,—  this  —  this  surprises  me  ! 

This  proscriptive  system  you  may  now  remove.  What  the  best 
men  in  Ireland  wished  to  do,  but  could  not  do,  you  iimy  accomplish. 
^Vere  it  not  wise  to  come  to  a  good  understanding  with  the  Irish  now  ? 
The  franchises  of  the  Constitution  !  —  your  ancestors  were  nursed  in 
that  cradle.  The  ancestors  of  the  petitioners  were  less  fortunate. 
The  posterity  of  both,  born  to  new  and  strange  dangers, —let  them 
agree  to  renounce  jealousies  and  proscriptions,  in  order  to  oppose  what, 
without  that  agreement,  will  overpower  both.  Half  Europe  is  in 
battalion  ao-xinst  us,  and  we  are  devoting  one  another  to  perdition  on 
account  of  mysteries,  —  when  we  should  form  against  the  enemy,  and 
march ! 


72.  RELIGION  INDEPENDENT  OF  GOVERNMENT,  1811.  —Henry  Grattan. 

Let  us  reflect  on  the  necessary  limits  of  all  human  legislation.  No 
Legislature  has  a  right  to  make  partial  laws ;  it  has  no  right  to  make 
arbitrary  laws  —  I  mean  laws  contrary  to  reason ;  because^  that,  is 
beyond  the  power  of  the  Deity.  Neither  has  it  a  right  to  institute 
any  inquisition  into  men's  thoughts,  nor  to  punish  any  man  merely  for 
his  relio-ion.  It  can  have  no  power  to  make  a  religion  for  men,  since 
that  would  be  to  dethrone  the  Almighty.  I  presume  it  will  not  be 
arrogated,  on  the  part  of  the  British  Legislature,  that  his  Majesty,  by 
and  with  the  advice  of  the  Lords  spiritual  and  temporal,  &c.,  can 
enact  that  he  will  appoint  and  constitute  a  new  religion  for  the  Peo- 
ple of  this  empire  ;  or,  that,  by  an  order  in  Council,  the  consciences 
and  creeds  of  his  subjects  might  be  suspended.  Nor  will  it  be  con- 
tended, I  apprehend,  that  any  authoritative  or  legislative  measure 
-odd  alter  the  law  of  the  hypothenuse.  Whatever  belongs  to  the 
authority  of  God,  or  to  the  laws  of  nature,  is  necessarily  beyond  the 
province  and  sphere  of  human  institution  and  government.  The 
Roman  Catholic,  when  you  disqualify  him  on  the  ground_  of  his  reli- 
irion  may,  with  great  justice,  tell  you  that  you  are  not  his  God,  that 
he  cannot  mould  or  fashion  his  faith  by  your  decrees.  When  once 
man  goes  out  of  his  sphere,  and  says  he  will  legislate  for  God,  he 
would,  in  fact,  make  himself  God, 

But  this  L  do  not  charge  upon  the  Parliament,  because,  in  none  of 
jhe  penal  acts,  has  the  Parliament  imposed  a  religious  creol. 
tiualifj  ing  oath,  as  to  the  great  number  of  offices,  and  as  to  seats  u 


SKNATORIAL.  GRATTAIS . 


Parliaments,  scrupalously  evades  religious  distinctians.  A  Dissentei 
jf  any  class  may  take  it.  A  Deist,  an  Atheist,  may  likewise  tiike  it. 
The  Catholics  are  alone  excepted ;  and  for  what,  reason  ?  If  a  Deist 
be  fit  to  sit  in  Parliament,  it  can  hardly  be  urged  that  a  Christian  is 
arM  J  ^  If  an  Atheist  be  competent  to  legislate  for  his  country,  surely 
fchis  pi  ivilege  cannot  be  denied  to  the  believer  in  the  divinity  of  cm 
Siiviour  !  If  it  be  contended  that,  to  support  the  Church,  it  is  expe 
iient  to  continue  these  disabilities,  I  dissent  from  that  opinion.  If  it 
could,  indeed,  be  proved,  I  should  say  that  you  had  acted  in  defiance 
of  all  the  principles  of  human  justice  and  freedom,  in  having  taken 
away  their  Church  from  the  Irish,  in  order  to  establish  your  own ;  and 
in  afterwards  attempting  to  secure  that  establishment  by  disqualifying 
the  People,  and  compelling  them  at  the  same  time  to  pay  for  its  sup"- 
port.^  This  is  to  fly  directly  in  the  face  of  the  plainest  canons  of  the 
Almighty.  For  the  benefit  of  eleven  hundred,  to  disqualify  four  or 
five  millions,  is  the  insolent  effort  of  bigotry,  not  the  benignant  pre- 
ceptof  Christianity  ;  and  all  this,  not  for  the  preservation  of  their 
property,—  for  that  was  secured,—  but  for  bigotry,  for  intolerance,  for 
avarice,  for  a  vile,  abominable,  illegitimate,  and  atrocious  usurpation. 
The  laws  of  God  cry  out  against  it ;  the  spirit  of  Christianity  cries 
out  against  it ;  the  laws  of  England,  and  the  spirit  and  principles  of 
its  Constitution,  cry  out  against  such  a  system. 


73  SECTARIAN  TYRANNY,  1812.  —Henry  Grattan. 

Whenever  one  sect  degrades  another  on  account  of  religion,  such 
degradation  is  the  tyranny  of  a  sect.  When  you  enact  that,  on 
account  of  his  religion,  no  Catholic  shall  sit  in  Parliament,  you  do 
what  amounts  to  the  tyranny  of  a  sect.  ¥/hen  you  enact  that  no 
Catholic  shall  be  a  sheriff,  you  do  what  am.ounts  to  the  tyranny  of  a 
sect.  When  you  enact  that  no  Catholic  shall  be  a  general,  you  do 
what  amounts  to  the  tyranny  of  a  sect.  There  are  two  descriptions 
of  laws,  —  the  municipal  law,  which  binds  the  People,  and  the  law  of 
God,  which  binds  the  Parliament  and  the  People.  Whenever  you  do 
any  act  which  is  contrary  to  His  laws,  as  expressed  in  His  work,  which 
IS  the  world,  or  in  His  book,  the  Bible,  you  exceed  your  right ;  when- 
ever you  rest  any  of  your  establishments  on  that  excess,  you  rest  it  on 
a  foundation  which  is  weak  and  fallacious  ;  whenever  you  attempt  tc 
establish  your  Government,  or  your  proper ^v,  or  vour  Church,  on 
religious  restrictions,  you  establish  them  on  that  false  foundation,  a^d 
you  oppose  the  Almighty ;  and  though  you  had  a  host  of  mitres  on 
your  side,  you  banish  God  from  your  ecclesiastical  Constitution,  and 
freedom  from  your  political.  In  vain  shall  men  endeavor  to  make 
this  the  cause  of  the  Church ;  they  aggravate  the  crime,  by  the 
«5ndeavor  to  make  their  God  their  fellow  in  the  injustice.  Such  rights 
are  the  rights  of  ambition ;  they  are  the  rights  of  conquest ;  and  in 
your  case,  they  have  been  the  rights  of  suicide.  They  b-^n  vf 
attacking  liberty ;  they  end  by  the  loss  of  emnire !  ^ 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


74  THE  AMERICAN  WAR  DENOUNCED,  im. —William  Pitt. 

^:^:^Z^:::::rL  ?,:SS;a  "LSV«  SSl^aiat-e  measures  ou,*t 
adopted  for  concluding  peace  with  the  American  Colomes. 

Gentlemen  have  pctssed  the  highest  eulogiums  on  the  American  WM. 
Its  instice  has  been  defended  in  the  most  fervent  manner.  A  nofcie 
W,  in  the  heat  of  his  zeal,  has  called  it  a  holy  war.  For  my  part, 
althouc^h  the  honorable  Gentleman  who  made  this  motion,  and  some 
other  Gentlemen,  have  been,  more  than  once,  in  the  course  o|  the  debate, 
severely  reprehended  for  calling  it  a  wicked  and  accursed  war,  i  am 
persuaded,  and  would  affirm,  that  it  was  a  most  accursed,  wicked, 
barbarous,  cruel,  unnatural,  unjust  and  diabolical  war!  It  was  con- 
ceived  in  iniustice;  it  was  nurtured  and  brought  forth  m  tolly;  its 
footsteps  were  marked  with  blood,  slaughter,  persecution  and  devasta- 
tion •  — ■  in  truth,  everything  which  went  to  constitute  moral  depravity 
and  human  turpitude  were  to  be  found  in  it.  It  was  pregnant  with 
Y  of  every  kind.  -r.     i  f 

mischief,  however,  recoiled  on  the  unhappy  People  of  this 
^untry,  who  were  made  the  instruments  by  which  the  wicked  purposes 
of  the  authors  of  the  war  were  effected.  The  Nation  was  drained  ot 
its  best  blood,  and  of  its  vital  resources  of  men  and  money.  IM 
expense  of  the  war  was  enormous,  -  much  beyond  any  former  experi- 
ence.  And  yet,  what  has  the  British  Nation  received  in  return  f 
Nothincr  but  a  series  of  ineffective  victories,  or  severe  deleats  ;  —  vie 
tories  Celebrated  only  by  a  temporary  triumph  over  our  brethren, 
whom  we  would  trample  down  and  destroy  ;  victories,  which  hi  ed  the 
land  with  mourning  for  the  loss  of  dear  and  valued  relatives  s.am  m 
the  impious  cause  of  enforcing  unconditional  submission  or  with  naira- 
tives  of  the  glorious  exertions  of  men  struggling  in  the  ho  y  cause 
If  liberty,  though  struggling  in  the  absence  of  all  the  facilities  and 
advantages  which  are  in  general  deemed  the  necessary  concomi  ants  of 
Victory  and  success.  Where  was  the  Englishman,  who,  on  reading  the 
narratives  of  those  bloody  and  well-fought  contests,  could  refrain  f.om 
lamenting  the  loss  of  so  much  British  blood  spilt  m  such  a  cause ,  or 
ftf)m  weeping,  on  whatever  side  victory  might  be  declared? 


76.  ON  A  MOTION  TO  CENSURE  THE  mmBTBY.- William  Pitt. 
1M«  noble  and  dignified  reply  to  the  animadversions  of  Mr  Fox  was  made  in  1788,  whe. 
Mr  Pitt,  then  Prime  Minister,  was  only  twenty-four  years  old. 

Sir,  revering,  a.  I  do,  the  great  abilities  of  the  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
who  spoke  last,  I  lament,  in  common  with       J^^^f '  f 
«biUti^s  are  misemployed,  as  on  the  present  q—l^^/^f^^^^  ^ 
uaagiuaiion,  and  miBlead  the  judgment.    I  am  told  Sir,   he  does  not 


SENATORIAL.  —  PITT. 


23? 


avy  me  the  triumph  of  my  situation  on  this  day a  soit  or  language 
irhich  becomes  the  candor  of  that  honc^fable  Gentleman  as  ill  as  his 
present  principles.  The  triumphs  of  party,  Sir,  with  which  this  sclf- 
appcmted  Mnnster  seems  so  highly  elate,  shall  never  seduce  me  to  any 
mconsistency  which  the  busiest  suspicion  shall  presume  to  glance  at. 
I  will  never  engage  in  political  enmities  without  a  public  cause.  I 
will  never  forego  such  enmities  without  the  public  approbation ;  nor 
will  I  be  questioned  and  cast  off  in  the  face  of  the  House,  by  one  vir- 
tuous and  dissatisfied  friend.  These,  Sir,  the  sober  and  durable 
trmmphs  of  reason  over  the  weak  and  profligate  inconsistencies  of  party 
violence,  —  these,  Sir,  the  steady  triumplis  of  virtue  over  success  itself, 
—  shall  be  mine,  not  only  in  my  present  situation,  but  through  every 
future  condition  of  my  life ;  triumphs  which  no  length  of  time  shall 
diminish,  which  no  change  of  principles  shall  ever  sully. 

My  own  share  in  the  censure  pointed  by  the  motion  before  the 
House  against  his  Majesty's  Ministers  I  will  bear  with  fortitude, 
because  my  own  heart  tells  me  I  have  not  acted  wrong.  To  this 
monitor,  who  never  did,  and,  I  trust,  never  will,  deceive  me,  I  will 
confidently  repair,  as  to  an  adequate  asylum  from  all  the  clamor  which 
interested  faction  can  raise.  I  was  not  very  eager  to  come  in ;  and 
shall  have  no  great  reluctance  to  go  out  whenever  the  public  are 
disposed  to  dismiss  me  from  their  service.  It  is  impossible  to  deprive 
me  of  those  feelings  which  must  always  spring  from  the  sincerity  of  my 
endeavors  to  fulfil  with  integrity  every  ojficial  engagement.  You  may 
take  from  me.  Sir,  the  privileges  and  emolumentb  of  place ;  but  you  can- 
not, and  you  shall  not,  take  from  me  those  habitual  and  warm  regards  for 
the  prosperity  of  my  country,  which  constitute  the  honor,  the  happiness, 
the  pride  of  my  life ;  and  which,  I  trust,  death  alone  can  extinguish. 
And,  with  this  consolation,  the  loss  of  power,  Sir,  and  the  loss  of 
fortune,  though  I  affect  not  to  despise  them,  I  hope  I  soon  shall  be 
able  to  forget : 

**  Laudo  manentem ;  si  celeres  quatit 
Pennas,  resigno  quse  dedit  — 
Probata  que 

Pauperiem  sine  dote  quaere." 


76.  ON  AN  ATTEMPT  TO  COERCE  HIM  TO  RESIGN.-  Id. 

««rSf  P^^^edby  the  House,  in  1784,  for  the  removal  of  his  Majesty>9  mln- 

ZuXt  J  whom  was  Mr.  Pitt.    These  resolutions,  however,  his  Majesty  had  not 

Can  anything  that  I  have  said,  Mr.  Speaker,  subject  me  to  be 
Wanded  with  the  imputation  of  preferring  my  personal  situation  to 
the  pubhc  happiness?  Sir,  I  have  declared,  agam  and  again.  Only 
prove  to  me  that  there  is  any  reasonable  hope  —  show  me  but  the 
most  distant  prospect  —  that  my  resignation  will  at  all  contribute  to 
restore  peace  and  happiness  to  the  country,  and  I  will  instantlv  resign 
But,  Sir,  I  declare,  at  t^v>  same  time,  I  will  not  be  in'lu'jed  to  lesigp 


^84 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


»d  a  pieliminary  to  negotiation.  I  will  not  abandon  this  situatioi  ia 
Drder  to  throw  myself  upon  the  mercy  of  that  right  honorable  geDLle-^ 
man.  He  caLz  me  now  a  mere  nominal  minister,  the  mere  puppet  of 
iecret  influence.  Sir,  it  is  because  I  will  not  become  a  mere  nomine, 
minister  of  his  creation,  —  it  is  becaii^e  I  disdain  to  become  the  puppet 
of  that  right  honorable  gentleman,  —  that  I  will  not  resign  ;  neithe 
shall  his  contemptuous  expressions  provoke  me  to  resignation:  my 
own  honor  and  reputation  1  never  will  resign. 

Let  this  House  beware  of  suffering  any  individual  to  involve  hia 
own  cause,  and  to  interweave  his  own  interests,  in  the  resolutions  of 
che  Hoiise  of  Commons.  The  dignity  of  the  House  is  forever 
appealed  to.  Let  us  beware  that  it  is  not  the  dignity  of  any  set  of 
men.  Let  us  beware  that  personal  prejudices  have  no  share  in 
deciding  these  great  constitutional  questions.  The  right  honorable 
gentleman  is  possessed  of  these  enchanting  arts  whereby  he  can  giv« 
grace  to  deformity.  He  holds  before  your  eyes  a  beautiful  and  delu 
sive  image  ;  he  pushes  it  forward  to  your  observation  ;  but,  as  sure  a^ 
you  embrace  it,  the  pleasing  vision  will  vanish,  and  this  fair  phantom 
of  liberty  will  be  succeeded  by  anarchy,  confusion,  and  ruin  to  the 
Constitution.  For,  in  truth.  Sir,  if  the  constitutional  independence  of 
the  Crown  is  thus  reduced  to  the  very  verge  of  annihilation,  where  is 
the  boasted  equipoise  of  the  Constitution  ?  Dreadful,  therefore,  as 
the  conflict  is,  my  con?  ience,  my  duty,  my  fixed  regard  for  the  Con- 
stitution of  our  ancestors,  maintain  me  still  in  this  arduous  situation. 
It  is  not  any  proud  contempt,  or  defiance  of  the  constitutional  resolu- 
tions of  this  House,  — it  is  no  personal  point  of  honor,  —  much  less  is  it 
any  lust  of  power,  that  makes  me  still  cling  to  office.  The  situation 
of  the  timoB  requires  of  me  — and,  I  will  add,  the  country  calls 
aloud  to  me  — that  I  should  defend  tnis  castle ;  and  I  am  determined, 
therefore,  I  will  defend  it  ! 


77.  BARBARISM  OF  OUR  BRITISH  ANCESTORS. —  /d. 

There  was  a  time,  Sir,  which  it  may  bo  fit  sometimes  to  revive  in 
the  remembrance  of  our  countrymen,  when  even  human  sacrifices  are 
said  to  have  been  offered  in  this  island.  The  very  practice  of  the 
slave-trade  once  prevailed  among  ps.  Slaves  were  formerly  an  estab- 
lished article  of  our  exports.  Great  numbers  were  exprted,  hks 
cattle  from  the  British  coast,  and  were  to  be  seen  exposed  for  sale  in 
the  l^uinan  market.  The  circumstances  that  furnished  the  alleged 
proofs  that  Africa  labors  under  a  natural  incapacity  for  civilization 
might  also  have  been  asserted  of  ancient  and  uncivilized  Britein. 
Why  might  not  some  Roman  Senator,  reasoning  upon  the  principl^ 
of  some  honorable  members  of  this  House,  and  pointing  to  British 
barbarians,  have  predicted,  with  equal  boldness,  "  There  is  a  Feople 
that  will  never  rise  to  civilization !  — -  There  is  a  People  destined  nevot 
u,beft«e!" 


SENATORIAL.  POX. 


239 


We  Air,  have  long  since  emerged  from  barbarism  ^  we  hat^  a\mo»t 
li>rgotten  that  we  were  once  barbarians;  we. are  now  raised  to  a  situ- 
ation  which  exhibits  a  striking  contrast  to  every  circumstance  b> 
which  a  Roman  might  have  characterized  us,  and  by  which  we  now 
characterize  Africa.    There  is,  indeed,  ont  thing  wanting  to  complete 
the  contrast,  and  to  clear  us  altogether  from  the  imputation  of  acting, 
even  to  this  hour,  as  barbarians ;  for  we  continue  to  this  hour  a  bar- 
barous traffic  in  slaves,  —  we  continue  it  even  yet,  in  spite  of  all  our 
great  and  undeniable  pretensions  to  civilization.    We  were  once  as 
obscure  among  the  Nations  of  the  earth,  as  savage  in  our  manners,  as 
(uobased  in  our  morals,  as  degraded  in  our  understandings,  as  these 
unhappy  Africans  are  at  present.    But,  in  the  lapse  of  a^long  series 
of  years,  by  a  progression  slow,  and,  for  a  time,  almost  imperceptible, 
we  have  become  rich  in  a  variety  of  acquirements,  favored  above 
measure  in  the  gifts  of  Providence,  unrivalled  in  commerce,  preem- 
inent in  arts,  foremost  in  the  pursuits  of  philosophy  and  science,  and 
established  in  all  the  blessings  of  civil  society.     From  all  these 
blessings  we  must  forever  have  been  shut  out,  had  there  been  any 
truth  in  those  principles  which  some  gentlemen  have  not  hesitated  to 
lay  down  as  applicable  to  the  case  of  Africa.    Had  those  principles 
been  true,  we  ourselves  had  languished  to  this  hour  in  that  miserable 
state  of  ignorance,  brutality  and  degradation,  in  which  history  proves 
our  ancestors  to  have  been  immersed.   Had  other  Nations  adopted  these 
principles^  in  their  conduct  towards  us,  had  other  Nations  applied  to 
Great  Britain  the  reasoning  which  some  of  the  Senators  of  this  very 
island  now  apply  to  Africa,  ages  might  have  passed  without  our 
emergmg  from  barbarism ;  and  we,  who  are  enjoying  the  blessings  of 
British  liberty,  might,  at  this  hour,  have  been  little  superior,  eithei 
m  morals,  in  knowledge,  or  refinement,  to  the  rude  inhabitants  ol 
the  Coast  of  Guinea. 


78.  RESULTS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  WAR,  IISO.- Charles  James  Fox. 

Charles  James  Fox  was  born  in  England,  on  the  24th  of  January,  1749.  He  made  his  firsf 
Bpeech  m  Parliament  on  the  1.5th  of  April,  1769.  In  the  style  of  his  oratory  he  has  been  com 
pared,  by  some  critics,  to  Demosthenes.  "  A  certain  sincerity  and  open-heartedness  of  man- 
ner ,  an  apparently  entn-e  and  thorough  conviction  of  being  in  the  right-,  an  abrupt  tone 
of  vehemence  and  indignation  ;  a  stea.lfast  love  of  freedom,  and  corresponding  hatred  of 
oppression  in  all  its  forms  ;  a  natural  and  idiomatic  style,  -  vigor,  argument,  poweis  -  theS 

h^^tT    T^^n  ^"^^fl  °^       P"".^^  ^'o^  died  on  the  13th  Septem 

Oer,  1806,  m  the  fifty-eighth  year  of  his  age. 

;\^E  are  charged  with  expressing  joy  at  the  triumphs  of  America. 
True  it  IS  that,  m  a  former  session,  I  proclaimed  it  as  my  sincere 
©pinion,  that  if  the  Ministry  had  succeeded  in  their  first  scheme  on 
the  liberties  of  America,  the  liberties  of  this  country  would  have  been 
at  an  end.  Thinking  this,  as  I  did,  in  the  sincerity  of  an  honest 
heart,  1  rejoiced  at  the  resistance  which  the  Ministry  had  met  to  their 
attempt.  That  great  and  glorious  statesman,  the  late  Earl  of  Chat 
ham.  feeling  for  the  liberties  of  his  native  country,  thanked  God  that 
America  had  resisted.    But,  it  seems,  "  all  the  calamities  of  the 


236 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


country  are  to  be  ascribed  to  the  wishes,  and  the  joy,  and  the  spcecheft 
of  Opposition."  0,  miserable  and  unfortunate  Ministry!  _  0,  blind 
and  incapable  men !  whose  measures  are  framed  with  so  little  fore- 
Bight,  and  executed  with  so  little  firmness,  that  they  not  only  crumble 
to  pieces,  but  bring  on  the  ruin  of  their  country,  merely  because  one 
rash,  weak,  or  wicked  man,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  makes  a  speecli 

against  them !  •  i     r.  i  tt 

Bat  who  is  he  who  arraigns  gentlemen  on  this  side  of  the  Hous«) 
with  causing,  by  their  inflammatory  speeches,  the  misfortunes  of  their 
country?  The  accusation  comes  from  one  whose  inflammatory 
harangues  have  led  the  Nation,  step  by  step,  from  violence  to  violence, 
in  that  inhuman,  unfeeling  system  of  blood  and  massacre,  which  every 
honest  man  must  detest,  which  every  good  man  must  abhor,  and  every 
wise  man  condemn'!  And  this  man  imputes  the  guilt  of  such  meas- 
ures to  those  who  had  all  along  foretold  the  consequences ;  who  had 
prayed,  entreated  and  supplicated,  not  only  for  America,  bat  for  the 
credit  of  the  Nation  and  its  eventual  welfare,  to  arrest  the  hand  of 
Power,  meditating  slaughter,  and  directed  by  injustice  ' 

What  was  the  consequence  of  the  sanguinary  measures  recomme'cided 
in  those  bloody,  inflammatory  speeches  ?  Though  Boston  was  to  be 
starved,  though  Hancock  and  Adams  were  proscribed,  yet  at  the  fe^Jt  of 
these  very  men  the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  was  obliged  to  l-neel, 
flatter,  and  cringe ;  and,  as  it  had  the  cruelty  at  one  time  to  denounce 
veno-eance  against  these  men,  so  it  had  the  meanness  afterwards  to 
implore  their  forgiveness.  Shall  he  who  called  the  Americans  "  Han- 
cock and  his  crew,"  —  shall  he  presume  to  reprehend  any  set  of  men 
for  inflammatory  speeches  ?  It  is  this  accursed  American  war  that 
has  led  us,  step  by  step,  into  all  our  present  misfortunes  and  natonal 
disgraces.  What  was  the  cause  of  our  wasting  forty  milhons  of  mcney, 
and  sixty  thousand  Hves  ?  The  American  war!  What  was  it  ^.hat 
produced  the  French  rescript  and  a  French  war?  The  Amercan 
war  !    Wliat  was  it  that  produced  the  Spanish  manifesto  and  bp^nish 


The  American  war!  What  was  it  that  armed  forty -two 
thousand  men  in  Ireland  with  the  arguments  carried  on  the  points 
of  forty  thousand  bayonets  ?  The  American  war  !  For  what  arft  we 
about  to  incur  an  additional  debt  of  twelve  or  fourteen  millions? 
This  accursed,  cruel,  diabolical  American  war  ! 

79,  THE  FOREIGN  POLICY  OF  WASHINGTON,  im.- Ckcales  James  Foe. 

How  infinitely  superior  must  appear  the  spirit  and  principles  of 
(ienerai  >v  ashington,  in  his  late  address  to  Congress,  compared  with 
the  policy  of  modern  European  Courts !  Illustrious  man !  —  deriving 
nonor  less  from  tlie  splendor  of  his  situation  than  from  the  dignity  ot 
mis  mind !  Grateful  to  France  for  the  assistance  received  from  her,  in 
diat  great  contest  which  secured  the  independence  of  America,  he  yet 
iid  not  iihoobe  io  give  up  the  system  of  neutrality  m  her  favor.  Uav- 
mg  mce  kid  dcvn  the  linp.  of  conduct  most  proper  io  be  pursued,  not 


SENATOKTAL.  ^  -  FOX. 


23- 


111  tho  insuifcs  and  provocations  of  the  Frencli  n-  nister,  Genet,*  could 
at  all  put  him  out  of  his  way,  or  bend  him  from  his  purpose.  It  must, 
indeod,  create  astonislxrxient,  that,  placed  in  circumstances  so  ciitical, 
una  tilling  a  station  so  conspicuous,  the  character  of  Washington  should 
never  once  have  been  called  in  question ;  —  that  he  shc^ild,  in  no  one 
instance,  have  been  accused  either  of  improper  insolence,  or  of  mean 
submission,  in  his  transactions  with  foreign  Nations.  It  has  been 
reserved  for  Mm  to  run  the  race  of  glory  without  experiencing  the 
smallest  interruption  to  the  brilliancy  of  his  career.  The  breath  of 
censure  has  not  dared  to  impeach  the  purity  of  his  conduct,  nor  th? 
eye  of  envy  to  raise  its  malignant  glance  to  the  elevation  of  his  virtues. 
Such  has  been  the  transcendent  merit  and  the  unparalleled  fate  of  this 
illustrious  man ! 

How  did  he  act  when  insulted  by  Genet  ?  Did  he  consider  it  as  neces- 
sary  to  avenge  himself  for  the  misconduct  or  madness  of  an  individual, 
by  involving  a  whole  continent  in  the  horrors  of  war  ?  No ;  he  con- 
tented himself  with  procuring  satisfiction  for  the  insult,  by  causing 
Genet  to  be  recalled ;  and  thus,  at  once,  consulted  his  own  dignity  and 
the  interests  of  his  country.  Happy  Americans  !  while  the  whirlwind 
flies  over  one  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  spreads  Everywhere  desolation, 
you  remain  protected  from  its  baneful  effects  by  your  own  virtues. 
and  the  wisdom  of  your  Government.  Separated  from  Europe  by  an 
immense  ocean,  you  feel  not  the  effect  of  those  prejudices  and  passions 
which  convert  the  boasted  seats  of  civilization  into  scenes  of  horror  and 
bloodshed.  You  profit  by  the  folly  and  madness  of  the  contending 
Nations,  and  afford,  in  your  more  congenial  clime,  an  asylum  to  those 
blessings  and  virtues  which  they  wantonly  contemn,  or  wickedly 
exclude  from  their  bosom  !  Cultivating  the  arts  of  peace  under  the 
influence  of  freedom,  you  advance,  by  rapid  strides,  to  opulence  and 
distinction ;  and  if,  by  any  accident,  you  should  be  compelled  to  take 
part  in  the  present  unhappy  contest,  —  if  you  should  find  it  necessary  to 
avenge  insult,  or  repel  injury,— the  world  will  bear  witness  to  the  equity 
of  your  sentiments  and  the  moderation  of  your  views  ;  and  the  success 
of  your  arms  will,  no  doubt,  be  prop)rtioned  to  the  justice  of  vom 
cause ! 


80.  MBETITY  IS  STRENGTH.  -Fox  1797,  on  the  State  of  Ireland. 

^  Opinions  become  dangerous  to  a  State  only  when  persecution  ofunvt 
It  necessary  for  the  People  to  communicate  their  ideas  under  t>ie  bond 
of  secrecy.  Publicity  makes  it  imposr-ible  for  artifice  to  sucr.eed.  and 
designs  of  a  hostile  nature  lose  their  danger  by  the  certaintj^  ot  expos- 
ure. But  it  is  said  that  these  bills  will  expire  in  a  few  j.jars ;  thav 
they  will  expire  when  we  shall  have  peace  and  tranquillit;y  restored  to 
us.  .  What  a  sentiment  to  inculcate!  You  tell  the  People  that,  when 
everything  g^es  well,  —  when  they  arc  happy  and  comfortuole,  —  then 
they  may  meet  freely,  to  recognize  their  happluesP,  and  pass  eulogium« 
♦  Pronounced  Zjennay. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 

fli  th&u  Government:  but  that,  in  a  moment  of  war  and  calamity,— df 
distrust  and  misconduct,  —  it  is  not  permitted  to  meet  together  ;  because 
then,  instead  of  eulogizing,  they  might  think  proper  to  condemn  Mima 
ters  What  a  mockery  is  this !  What  an  insult,  to  say  that  this  is 
preserving  to  the  People  the  right  of  petition  !  To  tell  them  that  they 
shall  have  a  right  to  applaud,  a  right  to  rejoice,  a  right  to  meet  when 
they  are  happy ;  but  not  a  right  to  condemn,  not  a  right  to  deplrr© 
their  misfortunes,  not  a  right  to  suggest  a  remedy ! 

Liberty  is  order.  Liberty  is  strength.  Look  round  the  world,  and 
admire,  as  you  must,  the  instructive  spectacle.  You  will  see  that 
liberty  not  only  is  power  and  order,  but  that  it  is  power  and  order  pre- 
dominant  and  invincible,  —  that  it  derides  all  other  sources  of  strength, 
And  shall  the  preposterous  imagination  be  fostered,  that  men  bred  m 
liberty  —  the  first  of  human  kind  who  asserted  the  glorious  distinction 
of  forming  for  themselves  their  social  compact  — can  be  condemned  to 
silence  upon  their  rights?  Is  it  to  be  conceived  that  men,  who  have 
enioyed,  for  such  a  length  of  days,  the  light  and  happiness  of  freedom, 
can  be  restrained,  and  shut  up  again  in  the  gloom  of  ignorance  and 
de.c^radation?  As  well.  Sir,  might  you  try,  by  a  miserable  dam,  to 
BhSt  up  the  flowing  of  a  rapid  river !  The  rolling  and  impetuous  tide 
would  burst  through  every  impediment  that  man  might  throw  m  its 
way ;  and  the  only  consequence  of  the  impotent  attempt  would  be,  that, 
having  collected  new  force  by  its  temporary  suspension,  enforcing 
itself  through  new  channels,  it  would  spread  devastation  and  rum  on 
every  side.  The  progress  of  liberty  is  like  the  progress  of  the  stream. 
Kept  within  its  bounds,  it  is  sure  to  fertilize  the  country  through 
wWch  it  runs  ;  but  no  power  can  arrest  it  in  its  passage;  and  short- 
sighted,  as  well  as  wicked,  must  be  the  heart  of  the  projector  that 
would  strive  to  divert  its  course. 


81.  VIGOR  OF  DEMOCRATIC  GOVERNMENTS,  mi.— Charles  James  Fox. 

When  we  look  at  the  Democracies  of  the  ancient  world,  we  are  com- 
polled  to  acknowledge  their  oppressions  to  their  dependencies :  their 
horrible  acts  of  injustice  and  of  ingratitude  to  their  own  citizens;  but 
they  compel  us,  also,  to  admiration,  by  their  vigor,  their  constancy, 
their  spirit,  and  their  exertions,  in  every  great  emergency  m  which 
they  were  called  upon  to  act.  We  are  compelled  to  own  that  the 
democratic  form  of  government  gives  a  power  of  which  no  other  torm 
h  capable.  Why  ?  Because  it  incorporates  every  man  with  tlie 
State.  Because  i't  arouses  everything  that  belongs  to  the  soul,  as  well 
as  U)  the  body,  of  man.  Because  it  makes  every  individual  leel  that 
he  is  fi^rhtino-  for  himself;  that  it  is  his  own  cause,  his  own  safety,  his 
own  dignity,  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  that  he  is  assertmg.  \\  ho,  that 
reads  the  bistory  of  the  Persian  War,  —  what  boy,  whose  heart  i» 
warmed  by  the  grand  and  sublime  actions  which  the  democratic  spirit 
produced,  -  does  not  find,  in  this  principle,  the  key  to  all  the  wonden 
iliich  wer?  acbT,ved  at  Thermopylae  and  elsewhere,  and  ot  winch  tb« 


SENATOEIAL.  FOX 


235 


recent  an(1  marvellous  acts  of  the  French  People  are  pregnant  exam- 
ples ?  Without  disguising  the  vices  of  France,  —  without  overlooking 
the  horrors  that  have  been  committed,  and  that  have  tarnished  the 
glory  of  the  Revolution,  —  it  cannot  be  denied  that  they  have  exempli- 
Bed  the  doctrine,  that,  if  you  wish  for  power,  you  must  look  to  liberty, 
lf  _ ever  there  was  a  moment  when  this  maxim  ought  to  be  dear  to  us, 
It  IS  the  present.  We  have  tried  all  other  means.  We  have  addressed 
ourselves  to  all  the  base  passions  of  the  People.  We  have  tried 
terrify  them  into  exertion  ;  and  all  has  been  unequal  to  our  emergency 
Let  us  try  them  by  the  only  means  which  experience  demonstrates  to 
be  mvmcibie.  Let  us  address  ourselves  to  their  love  !  Let  us  identify 
them  with  ourselves ;  —  let  us  make  it  their  own  cause,  as  well  as 
ours ! 


82.    THE  PARTITION  OP  POLAND,  1800.  -  CAar/e.v  James  Fox. 

Now,  Sir,  what  was  the  conduct  of  your  own  allies  to  Poland  ?  Is 
thsre  a  single  atrocity  of  the  French  in  Italy,  in  Switzerland,  in  Egypt, 
if  you  please,  more  unprincipled  and  inhuman  than  that  of  Russia,  Aus- 
tria and  Prussia,  in  Poland  ?  What  has  there  been  in  the  conduct  of 
the  French  to  foreign  powers  ;  what  in  the  violation  of  solemn  trea- 
ties  ;  what  in  the  plunder,  devastation,  and  dismemberment  of  unof- 
fending countries ;  what  in  the  horrors  and  murders  perpetrated  upon 
the  subdued  victims  of  their  rage  in  any  district  which  they  have  over- 
run,— worse  than  the  conduct  of  those  three  great  powers  in  the  misera- 
ble, devoted,  and  trampled-on  Kingdom  of  Poland,  and  who  have  been, 
or  are,  our  allies  in  this  war  for  religion,  social  order,  and  the  rights 
of  Nations  ?  0,  but  you  "  regretted  the  partition  of  Poland  !  "  Yes, 
regretted !  —  you  regretted  the  violence,  and  that  is  all  you  did.  You 
united  yourselves  with  the  actors ;  you,  in  tact,  by  your  acquiescence, 
confirmed  the  atrocity.  But  they  are  vour  allies ;  and  though  they 
ftverran  and  divided  Poland,  there  was  nothing,  perhaps,  in  the  manner 
of  doing  it,  which  stamped  it  with  peculiar  infamy  and  disgrace.  The 
hero  of  Poland,  perhaps,  was  merciful  and  mild  !  He  was  "  as  much 
superior  to  Bonaparte  in  bravery,  and  in  the  discipline  which  he  main- 
tained, as  he  was  superior  in  virtue  and  humanity  '  Ee  was  animated 
by  the  purest  principlcB  of  Christianity,  and  was  restraii^ed  in  hi^ 
career  by  the  benevolent  precepts  which  it  incuhates  i  "     Wa^  he  ? 

Let  unfortunate  Warsaw,  and  the  miserable  inhabitants  cf  the 
.'ttburb  of  Praga  in  particular,  tell !  What  do  ive  understs-ad  to  have 
been  the  conduct  of  this  magnanimous  hero,  with  whom,  it  seems, 
Bonaparte  is  not  to  be  compared  ?  He  entered  the  siib^jirb  of  Praga, 
the  most  populous  suburb  of  Warsaw,  and  there  he  leo  sold^'orv  loose 
)n  the  miserable,  unarmed  and  unresisting  peop;,> !  3'jen,  women  ana 
children,  —  nay,  infants  at  the  breast,  —  were  drv.  ncd  to  one  indiscrim- 
inaie  massacre  !  Thousands  of  them  were  Inb  jDraply,  wantonly  bukjh- 
ered !  And  for  what  ?  Because  they  had  daie^:  join  in  a  wish 
meliorate  their  own  condition  a-s  a  Peop^i;,  and  to  improve  their  Ood- 


240 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Btitution,  which  had  been  confessed,  by  their  own  sovereign,  to  be  iB 
want  of  amendment.  And  such  is  the  hero  upon  whom  the  cause  of 
«  religion  and  social  order  "  is  to  repose !  And  such  is  the  man  whom 
we  praise  for  his  discipline  and  his  virtue,  and  whom  we  bold  out  as 
our  boast  and  our  dependence ;  while  the  conduct  of  Bonaparte  unfits 
him  to  be  even  treated  with  as  an  enemy ! 

83.   AN  ATHEISTICAL  GOVERNMENT  IMPOSSIBLE,  1794.  —  R.  B.  5/tendan. 
Richard  Brinslev  Sheridan  was  born  in  DubUn,  September,  1751,  and  died  July  7,  1818,  in 
Lonaon    He  distinguished  himself  gi-eatly,  in  company  with  Burke,  in  the  prosecution  agamst 
Warren  Hastings  ;  but  the  reports  of  his  speeches  at  .tlie  trial  are  imperfect  and  conflicting 
Bhsridan's  fame  as  a  dramatist  is  quite  equal  to  his  Parliamentary  reputation. 

The  noble  Lord's  purpose  is  to  prove  that  France  began  the  war 
with  Great  Britain.  This  he  appears  to  think  he  has  established,  the 
moment  he  has  shown  that  Brissot*  and  others  have  promulgated  m 
print  a  great  many  foolish  and  a  great  many  wicked  general  principles, 
mischievous  to  all  established  Governments.  But  what  was  the  sum 
of  all  that  the  noble  Lord  told  the  House  ?  What  did  it  all  prove  ? 
What,  but  that  eternal  and  unalterable  truth,  that  a  long-established 
despotism  so  far  degraded  and  debased  human  nature,  as  to  render  lis 
subjects,  on  the  first  recovery  of  their  rights,  unfit  for  the  exercise  of 
them ;  but  never  have  I,  or  will  I,  meet,  but  with  reprobation,  that 
mode  of  argument  which  goes,  in  fact,  to  establish,  as  an  inference  from 
.nis  truth,  that  those  who  have  been  long  slaves  ought,  therefore,  tc 
remain  so  forever. 

It  is  contended  that  the  present  state  of  things  in  France  cannot 
stand.    Without  disputing  any  of  his  premises,  for  the  present,  1  will 
grant  the  noble  Lord  not  only  his  principle,  but  the  foundation  upon 
which  he  builds  it.    I  agree  with  him,  that  it  is  contrary  to  the  eter- 
nal and  unalterable  laws  of  Nature,  and  to  the  decrees  of  the  Maker  (■ 
man  and  of  Nations,  that  a  Government,  founded  on  and  maintaim  . 
Dy  injustice,  rapine,  murder  and  atheism,  can  have  a  fixed  endurance 
Dr  a  permanent  success ;  that  there  are,  self-sown  in  its  own  bosom,  the 
seeds  of  its  own  inevitable  dissolution.    But  if  so,  whence  is  our  mis- 
sion  to  become  the  destroying  angel  to  guide  and  hasten  the  anger  of 
the  Deity?    Who  calls  on  us  to  offer,  with  more  than  mortal  arro- 
gance, the  alliance  of  a  mortal  arm  to  the  Omnipotent  ?  or  to  snatch 
the  uplifted  thunder  from  His  hand,  and  point  our  erring  aim  at  the 
devoted  fabric  which  His  original  will  has  fated  to  fall  and  crumble  m 
that  ruin  which  it  is  not  in  the  means  of  man  to  accelerate  or  prevent  ? 
I  accede  to  the  noble  Lord  the  piety  of  his  principle  :  let  him  accede 
to  me  the  justice  of  my  conclusion  ;  or  let  him  attend  to  experience 
if  not  to  reason  ;  and.  must  he  not  admit  that  hitherto  all  the  attempts 
of  Vi;«  o.>n-vrp.nt1v  powerful,  but  certainly  presumptuous,  crusade  ot 
vengeance,  nave  appeared  unfavored  by  Ibrtune  and  by  Providence 
.  that  they  have  hitherto  had  no  other  effect  than  to  strengthen  tha 
powers,  to  whet  the  rapacity,  to  harden  the  heart,  to  inflame  the  iury 
and  to  augment  the  crimes,  of  that  Government,  and  that  People,  whom, 
we  have  rashly  sworn  to  flubduo,  to  chastise,  and  to  reform* 
*  Pronounced  Bre.esM. 


SBNATORTAL.  —  SHERIDAN.  241 
84  AGAINST  POLITICAL  JOBBING,  1794.- iZ.B.Menrfan. 

la  this  a  time  for  selfish  intrigues,  and  the  little  dirty  traffic  for 
ucre  and  emolument  ?  Does  it  suit  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  to  ask 
at  such  a  moment?  Does  it  become  the  honesty  of  a  minister  tc 
grant  ?  ^  What !  m  such  an  hour  as  fhis,  —  at  a  moment  pregnant  with 
the  national  fate,  when,  pressing  as  the  exigency  may  be,  the  hard 
task  of  squeezmg  the  money  from  the  pockets  of  an  impoverished 
People,  from  the  toil,  the  drudgery  of  the  shivering  poor,  must  make 
the  most  practised  collector's  heart  ache  while  he  tears  it  from  them 

—  can  It  be  that  people  of  high  rank,  and  professing  high  principles' 

—  that  they  or  their  families  should  seek  to  thrive  on  the  spoils  of 
misery,  and  fatten  on  the  meals  wrested  from  industrious  poverty? 
C),  shame  !  shame !  Is  it  intended  to  confirm  the  pernicious  doctrine 
so  industriously  propagated,  that  all  public  men  are  impostors,  and 
that  every  pohtician  has  his  price  ?  Or,  even  where  there  is  no  prin- 
ciple m  the  bosom,  why  does  not  prudence  hint  to  the  mercenary  and 
the  vam  to  abstain  a  while,  at  least,  and  wait  the  fitting  of  the  times  ? 
Improvident  impatience !  Nay,  even  from  those  who  seem  to  have 
no  direct  object  of  office  or  profit,  what  is  the  language  which  their 
actions  speak  ? 

"  The  Throne  is  in  danger  !  we  will  support  the  Throne ;  but  let  urf 
share  the  smiles  of  royalty !  "  "  The  order  of  nobility  is  in  danger  ! 
i  will  fight  for  nobility,"  says  the  Viscount ;  *  «  but  my  zeal  would  be 
greater  if  I  were  made  an  Earl !  "  "  Rouse  ail  the  Marquis  within 
me  exclaims  the  Earl,  «  and  the  Peerage  never  turned  forth  a  more 
undaunted  champion  in  its  cause  than  I  shall  prove !  "  "  Stam  my 
green  ribbon  blue,"  cries  out  the  illustrious  Knight,  -  and  the  fountain 
ot  honor  will  have  a  fast  and  faithful  servant !  " 

What  are  the  People  to  think  of  our  sincerity  ?  What  credit  are 
they  to  give  to  our  professions?  Is  this  system  to  be  persevered  in  « 
Is  there  nothing  that  whispers  to  that  right  honorable  gentleman  that 
the  crisis  IS  too  big,  that  the  times  are  too  gigantic,  to  be  ruled  by  the 
little  hackneyed  and  every-day  means  of  ordinary  corruption «  Or 
are  we  to  believe  that  he  has  within  himself  a  conscious  feehng  that 
disqualifies  him  from  rebuking  the  ill-timed  selfishness  of  his  new 
allies?  Let  him  take  care  that  the  corruptions  of  the  Government 
shall  not  have  lost  it  the  public  heart ;  that  the  example  of  selfishneag 
m  the  few  has  not  extinguished  public  spirit  in  the  man^f 

86.  POPULAR  AND  KINGLY  EXAMPLES,  1195.  ~  R.  B.  Sheridan. 

We  are  told  to  look  to  the  example  of  France.  From  the  excesses 
ot  the  Irench  People  in  the  French  Eevolution,  we  are  warned  against 
giving  too  much  liberty  to  our  own.  It  is  reechoed  from  every  quar- 
ter,  and  by  every  description  of  persons  in  office,  from  the  Prime 
Minister  to  the  exciseman, —  "  Look  to  the  example  of  Frj^nce!" 
ihe  implication  is  a  libel  upon  the  character  of  Great  Britain.  1 
vril]  not  admit  the  inference  or  the  argument,  that,  because  a  People, 

*  Pronounced  Wkount. 

16 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

Dred  under  a  proud,  insolent  and  grinding  despotism, —maddened  bj 
the  recollection  of  former  injuries,  and  made  savage  by  the  observation 
of  former  cruelties.  —  a  People  in  whose  minds  no  smcere  respect  for 
property  or  law  ever  could  have  existed,  because  property  tad  never 
been  secured  to  them,  and  law  had  never  protected  them, -that  the 
actions  of  such  a  People,  at  any  time,  much  less  m  the  r.aar  of  fre^T 
and  fury,  should  furnish  an  inference  or  ground  on  which  to  estiiLata 
tne  temper,  character  or  feelings,  of  the  People  of  Great  Britain. 

What  answer  would  gentlemen  give,  if  a  person,  affectedly  or  sm. 
ierely  anxious  for  the  preservation  of  British  liberty,_  were  to  say. 
'  Britons,  abridge  the  power  of  your  Monarch  ;  restram  the  exercise  , 
'of  his  iust  preiogative:  withhold  all  power  and  resources  from  his 
government,  or  even  send  him  to  his  Electorate,  from  whence  your 
voice  exalted  him  ;  -  for,  mark  what  has  been  domg  on  the  Continent : 
Look  to  the  example  of  Kings  !    Kings,  believe  me,  are  the  same  m 
nature  and  temper  everywhere.    Trust  yours  no  longer ;  see  how  that 
shameless  and  perfidious  despot      Prussia,  that  trickster  and  tyrant, 
has  violated  every  principle  ot  Lrath,  honor  and  l^nmamty,  m  his  mur- 
derous  though  impotent  attempt  at  plunder  and  robbery  m  Poland ! 
He  who  had  encouraged  and  even  guaranteed  to  them  their  Constitu- 
tion  -see  him,  with  a  scandalous  profanation  of  the  resources  which  he 
had'wrung  by  fraud  from  the  credulity  of  Great  Britam,  trampling  on 
the  independence  he  was  pledged  to  maintain  and  seizing  for  himself 
the  counks  he  had  sworn  to  protect !    Mark  the  still  more  sanguin- 
ary  efforts  of  the  despot  of  Russia,  faithless  not  to  us  only,  and  the 
cause  of  Europe,  as  it  is  called,  but  craftily  outwitting  her  perjured 
coad  utor,  profi'ti'ng  by  his  disgrace  and  grasping  to  herself  the  victim 
which  had  been  destined  to  glut  their  jomt  rapacity.    See  her  thank- 
inc.  her  favorite  General,  Suwarrow,  and,  still  more  impious,  thanking 
Heaven  for  the  opportunity;  thanking  him  for  the  most  miqmtous  act 
of  cruelty  the  bloody  page  of  history  records, -the  murderous  scene 
at  PraJ  where,  not  in  the  heat  and  fury  of  action,  not  m  the  first 
Lv^i^n^^  of  re;enge,  but  after  a  cold,  deliberate  pan.e  of  en  hours, 
Jh  temperate  barbarity,  he  ordered  a  considerate,  methodical  massacre 
Tf  ten  thousand  men,  women  and  children !    These  are  the  actions  of 
monarchs !    Look  to  the  example  of  Kings  ! 

»6  NECESSITY  OF  REFORM  IN  PARLIAMENT.  -  Lord  Grej,     Born,.  1764  died,  1845 

I  AM  aware  of  the  difficulties  I  have  to  encounter  in  bringmg  for. 
ward  this  business;  lam  aware  how  ungracious  it  would  be  for  thw 
House  to  show  that  they  are  not  the  real  representatives  of  the  People , 
I  am  aware  that  the  question  has  been  formerly  agitated  ^^^^^^^ 
accessions  by  great  and  able  characters,  who  have  deserted  the  cause 
froTrs'pair^of  success;  and  I  am  aware  that  I  must  necessarily  go 
into  what  may  perhaps  be  supposed  trite  and  worn-out  arguments  1 
eome  forward' on  the  present  occasion,  actuated  solely  by  a  ^^^^^^ 
luty,  to  make  a  serious  and  important  motion,  which,  I  am  ready  fairly 


SENATORIAL.  —  riUSKISSON.  243 

10  admit,  involFes  m  less  a  consideration  than  a  ftindamenial  changR  in 
toe  Government.  At  the  Revolution,  the  necessity  of  short  Plrlia- 
ments  was  asserted;  and  every  departure  from  these  principles  is,  in 
some  shape,  a  departure  from  the  spirit  and  practice  of  the  Constitu- 
tion ;  yet,  when  they  are  compared  with  the  present  state  of  the  rep- 
resentation, how  does  the  matter  stand?  Are  the  elections  free?  or 
are  Parha.raents  free  ?  Has  not  the  patronage  of  peers  increased  ?  la 
not  the  patronage  of  India  now  vested  in  the  Crown  ?  Are  all  these 
nnovation^3  to  be  made  in  order  to  increase  the  influence  of  the  Execu- 
tive power,  and  is  nothing  to  be  done  in  favor  of  the  popular  part  of 
tie  Constitution,  to  act  as  a  counterpoise  ? 

It  may  be  said  that  the  House  of  Commons  are  really  a  just  repre« 
sentaiion  of  the  People,  because,  on  great  emergencies,  they  never  fail 
to  speak  the  sense  of  the  People,  as  was  the  case  in  the  American  war, 
and  m  the  Russian  armament;  but,  had  the  House  of  Commons  had  a 
real  representation  of  the  People,  they  would  have  interfered  sooner 
on  these  occasions,  without  the  necessity  of  being  called  uDon  to  do  so. 

?^V^"^^  ^  ^^^^  representation  of  the  People, 

and  that  it  is  too  much  influenced  by  passion,  prejudice  or  interest. 
Ihis  may,  fop  a  time,  give  to  the  Executive  Government  apparent 
strength ;  but  no  aovernment  can  be  either  lasting  or  free  which  ig 
not  founded  on  virtue,  and  on  that  independence  of  mind  and  conduct 
among  the  People  which  creates  energy,  and  leads  to  everything  that 
IS  noble  and  generous,  or  that  can  conduce  to  the  streno-i^  and  safetv 
of  a  State.  °  ^ 

"  What  constitutes  a  State  1 
Not  high-raised  battlement  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall,  or  moated  gate  ; 
Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned  ; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports. 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  proud  navies  ride  ; 

Nor  starred  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-browed  Baseness  wafts  perfume  to  Pride 

No  !  men,  high-minded  men. 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued. 

In  forest,  brake  or  den. 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude;  

Men  who  their  duties  know. 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain  "  * 

«.  TIIE  CONSERVATIVE  INNOVATOR,  1829.- ^m.  Hmkisson.  Bozi^.im  ;  dtfj,\m 

I  HAVE  been  charged  with  being  the  author  in  some  instances,  and 
the  promoter  in  others,  of  innovations  of  a  rash  and  dangerous  nature. 
I  deny  the  charge.  I  dare  the  authors  of  it  to  the  proof.  Gentlemen 
when  they  talk  of  innovation,  ought  to  remember,  with  Lord  Bacon, 
that  "  Time  has  been  and  is  the  great  Innovator."  Upon  that  Inno^ 
vator  I  have  felt  it  my  duty  cautiously  to  wait,  at  a  becoming  di*. 
tance  and  with  proper  a'rcumspection ;  but  not  arrogantly  and  pr«» 
!umptuo  j3ly  to  go  before  him,  and  endeavor  to  outstrip  hi/  coH'-se 
•  By  Sir  Wm.  Janes.  Born,  1746  ;  died,  1794. 


244 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Time  has  raised  these  great  interests,  and  it  is  the  b  usiness  of  a  states, 
man  to  move  onwards  with  the  new  combinations  which  have  grown 
around  him.  This,  Sir,  is  the  principle  by  which  my  feelinge  have 
been  constantly  regulated,  during  a  long  public  life ;  and  by  which  1 
shall;  continue  to  be  governed,  so  long  as  I  take  any  part  in  the  publia 
tffairs  of  this  country.  It  is  well  said,  by  the  most  poetical  genius, 
perhaps,  of  our  own  times,  — 

"  A  thousand  years  scarce  serve  to  form  a  State,  — 
An  hour  may  lay  it  in  the  dust." 

I  his  is  the  feeling  which  has  regulated,  which  will  continue  to  reg 
ulate,  my  conduct.  I  am  no  advocate  for  changes  upon  mere  abstracl 
theory.  I  know  not,  indeed,  which  is  the  greater  folly,  that  of  resist- 
ing  all  improvement,  because  improvement  implies  innovation,  or  that 
of  referring  everything  to  first  principles,  and  to  abstract  doctrines." 
The  business  of  the  practical  man  is,  to  make  himself  acquainted  with 
facts  ;  to  watch  events  to  understand  the  actual  situation  of  affairs, 
and  the  course  of  time  and  circumstances,  as  bearing  upon  the  present 
state  of  his  own  country  and  the  world.  These  are  the  grounds  by  a 
reference  to  which  his  reason  and  judgment  must  be  fo.rmed  ;  accord- 
ing to  which,  without  losing  sight  of  first  principles,  he  must  know 
how  to  apply  them,  and  to  temper  their  inflexibility.  This  is  the 
task  of  practical  legislation. 


88.  SATIRE  ON  THE  PENSION  SYSTEM,  im.  — Curran. 
John  Philpot  Curran  was  born  in  Newcastle,  Ireland,  July  24th  1750.  His  Senatorial 
career  was  confined  to  the  Irish  Parliament,  and  was  entirely  eclipsed  by  his  reputation  at  the 
oar.  "There  never  lived  a  greater  advocate,"  says  Charles  Phillips;  " certainly  never  one 
more  suited  to  the  country  in  which  his  lot  was  cast.  His  eloquence  was  copious,  rapid  and 
ornate,  and  his  powers  of  mimicry  beyond  all  description."  In  his  boyhood  he  had  a  confusion 
in  his  utterance,  from  which  he  was  called  by  his  school-fellows  stuttering  Jack  <_urran.  m 
employed  every  means  to  correct  his  elocution,  and  render  it  perfect.  He  accustomed  him- 
self,"  says  one  of  his  biographers,  "  to  speak  very  slowly,  to  correct  his  precipitate  utterance  He 
practised  before  a  glass,  to  make  his  gestures  graceful.  He  spoke  aloud  the  most  celebrated 
orations.  One  piece,  -  the  speech  of  Antony  over  the  dead  body  of  Caesar, -he  was  never  weary 
of  repeating  This  he  recommended  to  his  young  friends  at  the  bar,  as  a  model  of  eloquence. 
And  while  he  thus  used  art  to  smooth  a  channel  for  his  thoughts  to  flow  in,  no  man  s  «;"q^ence 
'  ver  issued  more  freshly  and  spontaneously  from  the  heart.  It  was  always  the  hear  of  the  maL 
that  spoke."  Under  our  Forensic  department  several  choice  specimens  of  Curran  s  speeches 
will  be  found.    Curran  died  October  14th,  1817. 

This  polyglot  of  wealth,  this  museum  of  curiosities,  the  Pension 
List,  embraces  every  link  in  the  human  chain,  every  description  of  men, 
women  and  children,  from  ine  exalted  excellence  of  a  Hawke  or  a 
Rodney,  to  the  debased  situation  of  the  lady  who  humbleth  herself  that 
8ho  may  be  exalted.  But  the  les-sons  it  inculcates  form  its  greatest 
perfection  :  It  teacheth,  that  Sloth  and  Vice  may  eat  that  bread  which 
Virtue  and  Honesi.y  may  starve  for  after  they  have  earned  it.  It 
teaches  the  idle  and  dissolute  to  look  up  for  that  support  which  they 
are  too  proud  to  stoop  and  earn.  It  directs  the  minds  of  men  to  an 
entire  reliance  on  the  ruling  Power  of  the  State,  who  feeds  the  ravens 
of  the  Royal  aviary,  that  cry  continually  for  food.  It  teaches  them  to 
jaitate  those  Saints  on  the  Pension  List,  that  are  like  the  lihes  ot  th« 


(flENA-TORIAL.  CURRAN. 


245 


le  d ;  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,  and  yet  are  arrayed  lik^ 
Oolcmon  in  his  glory.  In  &ne,  it  teaches  a  lesson,  which,  indeed,  they 
might  have  learned  from  Epictetus,  that  it  is  sometimes  good  not  to  be 
over-virtuous  ;  it  shows,  that,  in  proportion'  as  our  distresses  increase, 
the  mumficence  of  the  Crown  increases  also;  in  proportion  as  our 
clothes  are  rent,  the  royal  mantle  is  extended  over  us 
_  Notwithstanding  that  the  Pension  List,  like  charity,  covers  a  muL 
ktude  of  sms.  give  me  leave  to  consider  it  as  coming  home  to  the  mem- 
tersot  this  House;  — give  me  leave  to  say,  that  the  Crown,  in  extend- 
ing Its  -.^arity,  its  hberality,  its  profusion,  is  laying  a  foundation  for 
the  independence  of  Parliament ;  for,  hereafter,  instead  of  orators  or 
patriots  accounting  for  their  conduct  to  such  mean  and  unworthy 
persons  as  freeholders,  they  will  learn  to  despise  them,  and  look  to  the 
farst  man  111  the  State;  and  they  will,  by  so  doing,  have  this  security 
tor  their  independence,  —  that  while  any  man  in  the  Km^dom  has  a 
ihillmg,  they  will  not  want  one  ! 


89.  REPLY  TO  THREATS  OF  VIOLENCE,  1190.- Curran. 

We  have  been  told  this  night,  in  express  words,  that  the  man  who 
dares  to  do  his  duty  to  his  country  in  this  House  may  expect  to  be 
attacked  without  these  walls  by  the  military  gentlemen  of  the  Castle. 
l  iiad  been  directly  or  indirectly  mentioned  in  the  course 

ot  the  debate,  this  extraordinary  declaration  might  be  attributable  to 
the  confusion  of  a  mistaken  charge,  or  an  absurd  vindication ;  but. 
mthout  connection  with  the  subject,  a  new  principle  of  government  is 
advanced,  and  that  is  -  the  bayonet !  And  this  is  stated  in  the  full- 
est  house,  and  the  most  crowded  audience,  I  ever  saw.  We  are  to  be 
silenced  by  corruption  within,  or  quelled  by  force  of  arms  without.  If 
the  strength  of  numbers  or  corruption  should  fail  against  the  cause  of 
the  public.  It  IS  to  be  backed  by  assassination.  Nor  is  it  necessary 
that  those  avowed  principles  of  bribery  and  arms  should  come  from 
any  high  personal  authority  ;  they  have  been  delivered  by  the  known 
retainers  of  Administration,  in  the  face  of  that  bench,  and  heard  even 
W'.Chout  a  murmur  of  dissent  or  disapprobation. 

£  or  my  part,  I  do  not  know  how  it  may  be  my  destiny  to  fall  •  —  it 
may  be  by  chance,  or  malady,  or  violence  ;  but,  should  it  be  my  fat* 
to  perish  the  victim  of  a  bold  and  honest  discharge  of  my  duty  I  wiH 
nac  shun  it  I  will  do  that  duty ;  and,  if  it  should  expose  me  to  sink 
(inder  ihe  blow  of  the  assassin,  and  become  a  victim  to  the  public? 
^^use,  the  most  sensible  of  my  regrets  would  be,  that  on  such  an  altar 
there  should  not  be  immolated  a  more  illustrious  sacrifice.  As  to 
myself,  while  I  live,  I  shall  despise  the  peril.  I  feel  in  my  own  spirit 
the  safety  of  my  honor,  and  in  my  own  and  the  spirit  of  the  People 
ao  I  feel  strength  enough  to  hold  that  Administration,  which  can  giVe 
a  sanction  to  menaces  like  these,  responsible  for  their  consequenc5  to 
the  Nation  and  the  individual. 


THE  STANDAKl)  SPFAKER. 


90.  AGAINST  RELIGIOUS  DISTINCTIONS,  1796.  -  Currm. 

G?aiTLEMEN  say  the  Catholics  have  got  everything  but  seats  « 
Parliament.  Are  we  really  afraid  of  ^ving  them  that  privilege 
Are  we  seriously  afraid  that  Catholic  venality  might  pollute  thfs 
immaculate  integrity  -/  the  House  of  Commons  ?  —  that  a  Catholi;; 
jnember  would  be  more  accessible  to  a  promise,  or  a  pension,  or  a  bribe 
than  a  Protestant  ?  Lay  your  hands  upon  your  hearts,  look  in  on€ 
another's  faces,  and  say  Yes,  and  I  will  vote  against  this  amendment^ 
But  is  it  the  fact  that  they  have  everything  ?  Is  it  the  fact  tha« 
they  have  the  common  benefit  of  .the  Constitution,  or  the  common  pro- 
te^^tion  of  the  law  ?  i  j 

Another  gentleman  has  said,  the  Catholics  have  got  much,  and 
ou^ht  to  be  content.  ^Yhy  have  they  got  that  much  ?  Is  it  from 
the  minister  ?  Is  it  from  the  Parliament,  which  threw  their  petition 
over  its  bar  ?  No,  —  they  got  it  by  the  great  revolution  of  human 
affairs  ;  by  the  astonishing  march  of  the  human  mmd  ;  a  march  that 
has  collected  too  much  momentum,  in  its  advance,  to  be  now  stopped 
in  its  progress.  The  bark  is  still  afloat ;  it  is  freighted  with  the  hopes 
and  liberties  of  millions  of  men  ;  she  is  already  under  way ;  the  rower 
may  faint,  or  the  wind  may  sleep,  but,  rely  upon  it,  she  has  already 
acquired  an  energy  of  advancement  that  will  support  her  course,  and 
bring  her  to  her  destination ;  rely  upon  it,  whether  much  or  little 
remains,  it  is  now  vain  to  withhold  it ;  rely  upon  it,  you  may  as  well 
stamp  your  foot  upon  the  earth,  in  order  to  prevent  its  revolution. 
You  cannot  stop  it !  You  will  only  remain  a  silly  gnomon  upon  its 
surface,  to  measure  the  rapidity  of  rotation,  until  you  are  forced  round 
and  buried  in  the  shade  of  that  body  whose  irresl^^tiHe  course  you 
would  endeavor  to  oppose  ! 

91.  FRUITS  OF  THE  WAR  WITH  FRANCE.  —  Georg^e  Canning. 

George  Canning  was  born  in  London,  on  the  11th  of  April,  17T0.  He  entered  into  public  life 
^he  avo^.ved  pupil  of  Mr.  Pitt,  and  made  his  maiden  speech  m  Parliament,  from  which  the  fol- 
iowin  As  aVeXct,  in  1794.  He  was  repeatedly  a  member  of  the  Ministry,  and  became  Premict 
ho  tly  before  Ms  death,  which  occurred^n  1827-  Mr.  Canning  meditated  ^-■^^,^P-ches  car^ 
fuUv  and  they  are  models  of  Parliamentary  style.  "No  English  bpea»c  says  Sr  James 
Mackintosh,  "used  the  keen  and  brUliant  weapon  of  wit  so  long,  so  often,  or  so  eff:.ctively,  at 
Mr.  Camiing." 

We  have  been  told  that  this  is  a  war  into  which  we  have  been  hur- 
ried by  clamor  and  prejudice ;  in  short,  that  it  is  a  war  of  paasion. 
An  appeal  is  made  to  our  prudence ;  and  we  are  asked,  with  air 
of  triumph,  what  are  we  to  get  by  this  war  ?  Sir,  that  we  have  still 
a  Government;  that  the  functions  of  this  House  have  not  been  usurped 
bv  a  3orresponding  society,  or  a  Scotch  Convention  ;  that,  instead  of 
Bi'tting  in  debate  here,  whether  or  not  we  shall  subsidize  the  King  of 
Sardinia,  we  are  not  rather  employed  in  devising  how  to  raise  a  forcec 
loan  for  some  proconsular  deputy,  whom  the  banditti  of  Pans  might 
have  sent  to  receive  our  contributions ;  — Sir,  that  we  sit.  here  at  ali 
these  are  the  fruits  of  the  war  ! 


BENATORIiiL.  CANNING. 


But,  when  neitner  our  reason  nor  our  pruden  e  bo  set  against 
the  war,  an  attempt  is  made  to  alarm  our  apprehensions.  The  French 
are  state  d  to  an  invincible  People  ;  inflamed  to  a  degree  of  madness 
with  the  holy  enthusiasm  of  freedom,  there,  is  nothing  that  they  camiot 
accomplish.  I  am  as  ready  as  any  man  to  allow  that  the  French  are 
enthusiastically  animated,  be  it  how  it  may,  to  a  stiite  of  absolute 
insanity.  ^  I  desire  no  better  proof  of  their  being  mad,  than  to  see 
them  hugging  themselves  in  a  system  of  slavery  so  gross  and  grinding 
as  their  nresent,  and  calling,  at  the  same  time,  aloud  upon  all  Europe, 
to  admire  and  envy  their  freedom.  But,  before  their  plea  of  madness 
can  be  admitted  as  conclusive  against  our  right  to  be  at  war  with 
l^hem,  Gentlemen  would  do  well  to  recollect  that  of  madness  there  are 
several  kinds.  If  theirs  had  been  a  harmless  idiot  lunacy,  which  had 
contented  itself  with  playing  its  tricks  and  practising  its  fooleries  a. 
home, —  with  dressing  up  shameless  women  in  oak -leaves,  and  inventing 
nick-names  for  the  calendar,  —  I  should  have  been  far  from  desiring  to 
interrupt  their  innocent  amusements ;  we  might  have  looked  on  with 
hearty  contempt,  indeed,  but  with  a  contempt  not  wholly  unmixed 
with  commiseration.  But,  if  theirs  be  a  madness  of  a  dilFerent  kind, 
—  a  moody,  mischievous  insanity,  —  if,  not  contented  with  tearing  and 
wounding  themselves,  they  proceed  to  exert  their  unnatural  strength 
for  the  annoyance  of  their  neighbors,  —  if,  not  satisfied  with  weaving 
Straws  and  wearing  fetters  at  home,  they  attempt  to  carry  their  sys- 
tems and  their  slavery  abroad,  and  to  impose  them  on  the  Nations  of 
Europe,  —  it  becomes  necessary,  then,  that  those  Nations  should  bo 
roused  to  resistance.  Such  a  disposition  must,  for  the  safety  and  peace 
of  tho  world,  be  repelled ;  and,  if  possible,  be  eradicated. 


92.  BANK-NOTES  AND  COIN,  1811.  —  George  Canning: 

Are  bank-notes  equivalent  to  the  legal  standard  coin  of  the  realm  ? 
This  is  the  question  which  divides  and  agitates  the  public  opinion. 
Says  the  right  honorable,  gentleman,  "  I  will  devise  a  mode  of  settling 
this  question  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  public."  By  advising  a  procla- 
mation ?  No.  By  bringing  a  bill  into  Parliament  ?  No.  By  pro- 
posing  to  declare  the  joint  opinion  of  both  Houses,  or  the  separate 
opinion  of  one  ?  No.  By  what  process,  then  ?  Why,  simply  by 
telling  the  disputants  that,  they  are,  and  have  been  all  along,  however 
unconsciously,  agreed  upon  the  subject  of  their  variance  ;  and  grar-ly 
resolving  for  them,  respectively,  an  unanimous  opinion  !  This  is  the 
very  judgment,  I  should  imagine,  which  Milton  ascribes  to  the  vener- 
able Anarch,  whom  he  represents  as  adjusting  the  disputes  of 
conflicting  element : 

"  Chaos  umpire  sits, 
And  by  decision  more  embroils  the  fray.'* 

In  public  estimation,"  says  tUe  right  hoLorable  gentleman's  Beso 
lutiop  "  bank-notes  and  coin  are  equivdeLt."    Indsed  !  What  then 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


i«  become  of  all  those  persons  who,  for  the  last  six  months,  have  been, 
by  every  outward  and  visible  indication,  evincing,  maintaining,  and 
inculcating  an  opinion  diametrically  opposite  ?  Who  wrote  that  mul- 
titude of  pamphlets,  with  the  recollection  of  which  one's  head  is  still 
dizzy  ?  Does  the  honorable  gentleman  apprehend  that  his  arguments 
must  have  wrought  their  conversion  ? 

When  Bonaparte,  not  long  ago,  was  desirous  of  reconciling  the 
Nations  under  his  dominion  to  the  privations  resulting  from  tliQ 
exclusion  of  all  colonial  produce,  he  published  an  edict,  which  com- 
menced in  something  like  the  following  manner,  —  "  Whereas,  sugar 
made  from  beet-root,  or  the  maple-tree,  is  infinitely  preferable  to  that 
of  the  sugar-cane,"  —  and  he  then  proceeded  to  denounce  penalties 
against  those  who  should  persist  in  the  use  of  the  inferior  commodity. 
The  denunciation  might  be  more  effectual  than  the  right  honorable 
gentleman's  Ilesolution  ;  but  the  preamble  did  not  go  near  so  fer ;  for. 
though  it  asserted  the  superiority  of  the  maple  and  beet-root  sugar,  it 
rested  that  assertion  merely  on  the  authority  of  the  State,  and  did  not 
pretend  to  sanction  it  by  "  public  estimation." 

When  Galileo  first  promulgated  the  doctrine  that  .the  earth  turned 
round  the  sun,  and  that  the  sun  remained  stationary  in  the  centre  of 
the  universe,  the  holy  fathers  of  the  Inquisition  took  alarm  at  so  dar- 
ing an  innovation,  and  forthwith  declared  the  first  of  these  propositions 
to  be  false  and  heretical,  and  the  other  to  be  erroneous  in  ponit  of 
faith.  The  Holy  Office  "  pledged  itself  to  believe"  that  the  earth  was 
stationary,  and  the  sun  movable.  This  pledge  had  little  effect  in  chang- 
ing the  natural  course  of  things  ;  the  sun  and  the  earth  contmued,  m 
spite  of  it,  to  preserve  their  accustomed  relations  to  each  other,  just  as 
the  coin  and  the  bank-note  will,  in  spite  of  the  right  honorable  gentle- 
man's  Ilesolution. 

Let  us  leave  the  evil,  if  it  must  be  so,  to  the  chance  of  a  gradual 
and  noiseless  correction.  But  let  us  not  resolve,  as  law,  what  is  an 
incorrect  and  imperfect  exposition  of  the  law.  Let  us  not  resolve,  a« 
fact,  what  is  contradictory  to  universal  experience.  Let  us  not  expose 
ourselves  to  ridicule  by  resolving,  as  the  opinions  of  the  People,  opin- 
ions which  the  People  do  not,  and  which  it  is  impossible  they  should, 
entertain. 


93.  AGAINST  LORD  JOHN  RUSSELL'S  MOTION,  April  26,  1822. —/d. 

There  are  wild  theories  abroad.  I  am  not  disposed  to  impute  air 
01  motive  to  any  man  who  entertains  them.  I  will  believe  such  a  man 
to  be  as  sincere  in  his  conviction  of  the  possibility  of  realizing  his 
notions  of  change,  without  risking  the  tranquillity  of  the  country,  as  I 
am  sincere  in  my  belief  of  their  impracticability,  and  of  the  treinendou* 
danger  of  attempting  to  carry  them  into  effect ;  but,  for  the  sake  ol  the 
world,  as  well  as  for  our  own  safety,  let  us  be  cautious  ami  nrra 
Other  Nations,  axcited  by  the  example  of  the  liberty  which  tbu 
wuntrv  baa  long  possessed,  have  attempted  tc  copy  our  Constitution 


SENATORIAL.  —  CANNING. 


24)» 


Mid  flome  of  them  have  shot  beyond  it  in  the  fierceness  of  their  pursuit 
r  grudge  not  to  other  Nations  that  share  of  liberty  which  they  may 
acquire ;  —  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  let  them  enjoy  it !  But  let  us  warn 
them,  that  they  lose  not  the  object  of  their  desire  by  the  very  eager- 
Bess  with  which  they  attempt  to  grasp  it.  Inheritors  and  conservators 
ot  rational  freedom,  let  us,  while  others  are  seeking  it  in  restlessnest* 
and  trouble,  be  a  steady  and  shining  light  to  guide  their  course,  not 
a  wandering  meteor  to  bewilder  and  mislead  them 

A  search  after  abstract  perfection  in  government  may  produce,  iu 
generous  minds,  an  enterprise  and  enthusiasm  to  be  recorded  by  the 
historian,  and  to  be  celebrated  by  the  poet ;  but  such  perfection  is  not 
^n  object  of  reasonable  pursuit,  because  it  is  not  one  of  possible  attain- 
ment; and  never  yet  did  a  passionate  struggle  after  an  absolutely  unat- 
tamabie  object  fail  to  be  productive  of  misery  to  an  individual,  of  mad- 
ness and  confusion  to  a  People.  As  the  inhabitants  of  those  burning 
climates  which  lie  beneath  the  tropical  sun  sigh  for  the  coolness  of  the 
mountain  and  the  grove,  so  (all  history  instructs  us)  do  Nations  which 
have  basked  for  a  time  in  the  torrent  blaze  of  an  unmitigated  liberty 
too  often  call  upon  the  shades  of  despotism,  even  of  military  despotisni 
to  cover  them :  j      t-  > 

«'0  quis  me  gelidis  in  vallibus  Hajmi 
Sistat,  et  ingenti  ramorum  protegat  umbra  ! " 

A  protection  which  blights  while  it  shelters ;  which  dwarfs  the  intellect 
and  stunts  the  energies  of  man,  but  to  which  a  wearied  Nation  will- 
mgly  resorts  from  intolerable  heats,  and  from  perpetual  danger  of  con- 
vulsion. ° 

Our  lot  is  happily  cast  in  the  temperate  zone  of  freedom,  —  the  clime 
best  smted  to  the  development  of  the  moral  qualities  of  the  human 
race,  to  the  cultivation  of  their  faculties,  and  to  the  security  as  well 
as  the  improvement  of  their  virtues ;~a  clime  not  exempt,  indeed, 
trom  variations  of  the  elements,  but  variations  which  purify  while  they 
agitate  the  atmosphere  that  we  breathe.  Let  us  be  sensible  of  the 
advantages  which  it  is  our  happiness  to  enjoy.  Let  us  guard,  with 
pious  gratitude,  the  flame  of  genuine  liberty,  that  fire  from  Heaven,  of 
which  our  Constitution  is  the  holy  depository;  and  let  us  not,  for  the 
chance  of  rendering  it  more  intense  and  more  radiant,  impair  its  purity 
or  hazard  its  extinction 


94  ON  MR.  TIERNEY'S  MOTION,  December  11,  ms.- George  Canning 

Tim  friendship  of  Holland  !  The  independence  of  Spain  !  Is  there 
a  man  so  besotted  as  to  suppose  that  there  is  one  hour  of  peace  with 
l^rance  preserved  by  either  of  these  unhappy  countries,  that  there  is 
pao  syllable  of  friendship  uttered  by  them  towards  France,  but  whai 
IS  extorted  by  the  immediate  pressure,  or  by  the  dread  and  terroi  of 
French  arms  ?  — 

■aru  u   "Mouth-honor,  breath, 

Wsam  tho  poor  heart  would  fain  refuse,  but  dare  nokf 


250 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


.4ave  the  regenerated  Republic  of  HcUand,  the  degraded  Monarchj 
of  Spain,  such  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  protection  of  the  French  Repub- 
lie,  that  they  would  voluntarily  throw  themselves  between  her  and  an^^ 
blow  which  might  menace  h^r  existence  ? 

But  does  the  honorable  Gentleman  intend  his  motion  as  a 
motion  for  peace  ?  If  he  really  thinks  this  a  moment  for  opening  a 
negotiation,  why  has  he  not  the  candor  and  manliness  to  say  m 
Mark,  I  entreat  you,  how  delicately  he  manages  it!  He  will  nol 
Bpeak  to  France,  but  he  would  speak  at  her.  He  will  not  proposo  — 
not  he  — that  we  should  say  to  the  Directory,  "Will  you  niake 
peace  ?  "  No,  Sir ;  we  are  merely  to  say  to  ourselves,  loud  enough  for 
the  Directory  to  overhear  us,  "  I  wish  these  French  Gentlemen  would 
make  an  overture  to  us."  Now,  Sir,  does  this  save  the  dignity  of  the 
country  ?  or  is  it  only  a  sneaking,  shabby  way  of  doing  what,  if  fit  to 
be  done  at  all,  must,  to  have  any  serious  effect,  be  done  openly,  un- 
equivocally,  and  directly?  But  I  beg  the  honorable  Gentleman^s 
pardon  ;  —  I  misrepresent  him :  I  certainly  do.  His  motion  does  not 
amount  even  to  so  much  as  I  have  stated.  He  begins  further  off. 
The  soliloquy  which  he  prompts  us,  by  his  motion,  is  no  more  than 
this — "  We  must  continue  to  make  war  against  France,  to  be  sure; — 
and  we  are  sorry  for  it ;  but  we  will  not  do  it  as  if  we  bore  malice. 
We  will  not  make  an  ill-natured,  hostile  kind  of  war  any  longer,—  that 
we  won't.  And  who  Inows  but,  if  they  should  happen  to  overhear 
this  resolution,  as  the  Directory  are  good-natured  at  bottom,  their 
hearts  may  soften  and  grow  kind  towards  us  —  and  then  they  will 
offer  to  make  a  peace ! "  And  thus,  Sir,  and  thus  only,  is  the  motion 
a  motion  for  peace. 

Since,  then,  Sir,  this  motion  appears  to  me  to  be  founded  on  no 
principle  of  policy  or  necessity ;  since,  if  it  be  intended  for  a  censure 
on  ministers,  it  is  unjust,  — if  for  a  control,  it  is  nugatory;  as  ita 
tevidency  is  to  impair  the  power  of  prosecuting  war  with  vigor,  and  to 
diminish  the  chance  of  negotiating  peace  with  dignity,  or  concluding  it 
with  safety ;  as  it  contradicts,  without  reason,  and  without  advantage, 
the  established  policy  of  our  ancestors;  as  it  must  degrade  in  the  eyea 
of  the  world  the  character  of  this  country ;  as  it  must  carry  dismay 
and  terror  throughout  Europe ;  and,  above  all,  as  it  must  administer 
consolation,  and  hope,  and  power,  and  confidence,  to  France,  —  I  shall 
give  it  ray  most  hearty  and  decided  negative. 


95.  VINDICATION  OF  MR.  BITl  -  George  Canning 

It  appears  to  be  a  measure  of  party  to  run  down  the  fame  of  Mi. 
Pitt.  I  could  not  answer  it  to  my  conscience  or  to  my  feelings,  if  1 
had  suffered  repeated  provocations  to  pass  without  notice.  Mr.  Pitt 
tt  seems,  was  not  a  great  man.  Is  it,  then,  that  we  live  ip  such  heroid 
times,  that  the  ptesent  is  a  race  of  such  gigantic  talents  and  qualities,  ai 
to  render  those  of  Mr.  Pitt,  in  the  comparison,  ordinary  and  contempt. 


SENATORIAL.  CANNING. 


25i 


ible.  Who,  then,  IS  the  man  now  living,  —  is  there  any  ^.an  nov 
sitting  in  this  House,  —  who,  by  taking  the  measure  of  his  (,wn  mind, 
or  ot  that  of  any  of  Ins  contemporaries,  can  feel  himself  iustiiied  ir 
pronouncing  that  Mr.  Pitt  was  not  a  great  man  ?  I  admire  as  much 
as  any  man  the  abilities  and  ingenuity  of  the  honorable  and  learned 
gentleman  who  promulgated  this  opinion.  I  do  not  deny  to  him  mam 
01  the  qualities  which  go  to  constitute  the  character  which  he  has 
described.  But  I  think  I  may  defy  all  his  ingenuity  to  frame  any 
delimtion  of  that  character  which  shall  not  apply  to  Mr  Pitt  —  to 
trace  any  circle  of  greatness  from  which  Mr.  Pitt  shall  be  excluded 

i  have  no  manner  of  objection  to  see  placed  on  the  same  pedestal 
witii  iUr.  1  lit,  for  the  admiration  of  the  present  age  and  of  po^lcritv 
other  Gistinguishcd  men  ;  and  amongst  them  his  great  rival,  whos' 
memory  is,  I  have  no  doubt,  as  dear  to  the  honorable  gentlemen  oppo- 
site, as  that  of  Mr.  Pitt  is  to  those  who  loved  him  living,  and  who 
revere  him  dead.  But  why  should  the  admiration  of  one  be  incom- 
patiblo  with  justice  to  the  other  ?  Why  cannot  we  cherish  the  remem 
brance  of  the  respective  objects  of  our  veneration,  leaving  to  each  other 
a  similar  freedom  ?  For  my  own  part,  I  disclaim  such  a  spirit  of 
mtolerance  Be  it  the  boast  and  the  characteristic  of  the  school  o 
.itt,  that,  however  provoked  by  illiberal  and  unjust  attacks  upon  H-i 
memory  whether  in  speeches  in  this  House  or  in  calumnies  out  of  it, 
they  will  never  so  far  forget  the  respect  due  to  him  or  to  themselves, 
as  to  be  betrayed  into  reciprocal  illiberality  and  injustice,  —  that  thev 
disdain  to  retaliate  upon  the  memory  of  Mr.  Pitt's  great  rival ' 


96.  ".MEASURES  NOT  MEN,"  1S02.~ George  Canning. 

If  I  am  pushed  to  the  wall,  and  forced  to  speak  my  opinion,  I  have 
no  disguise  nor  reservation :  —  I  do  think  that  this  is  a  time  when  the 
administration  of  the  government  ought  to  be  in  the  ablest  and  fittest 
hands ;  i  do  not  thmk  the  hands  in  which  it  is  now  placed  answer  to 
that  description.   I  do  not  pretend  to  conceal  in  what  quarter  T  think 
tiiat  fitness  most  eminently  resides  :  i  do  not  subscribe  to  the  doctrines 
which  have  been  advanced,  that,  in  times  like  the  present,  the  fitness 
m  individuals  for  their  political  situation  is  no  part  of  the  consideration 
to  which  a  member  of  Parliament  may  fairly  turn  his  attention  I 
tnow  not  a  more  solemn  or  important  duty  that  a  member  of  Parlia- 
fiient  can  have  to  discharge,  than  by  giving,  at  fit  seasons,  a  free 
opinion  upon  the  character  and  qualities  of  public  men.    Away  with 
the  cant  of  "  measures,  not  men  !  "  the  idle  supposition  that  it  is  the 
baraess,  and  not  the  horses,  that  draw  the  chariot  along  !    No  Sir  if 
iJie  comparison  must  be  made,  if  the  distinction  must  be  taken  m^a 
^f/^^^^fi»g' Pleasures  comparatively  nothing.  I  speak,  Sir,  of  times 
Of  dilnculty  and  danger  ;  of  times  when  systems  are  shaken,  when  Dre=. 
eeaents  and  general  rules  of  conduct  fail.    Then  it  is,  that  not  to  'thk 
or  that  measure,  —  however  prudently  devised,  howeTer  blameless  in 


252 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


execuLon,  -  but  ta  tke  energy  and  character  of  individuaib,  a  Slats^irad 
be  indebted  for  its  salvation.  Then  it  is  that  kingdoms  rise  cr  fall  In 
proportion  as  they  are  upheld,  not  by  well-meant  endeavors  (laudable 
though  they  may  be),  but  by  commanding,  overawing  talents,  —  by  abla 
tnen. 

And  what  is  the  nature  of  the  times  in  which  we  live  ?  Look  at 
France,  and  see  what  we  have  to  cope  with,  and  consider  what  has  made 
hQT  what  she  is.  A  man !  You  will  tell  me  that  she  was  great,  and 
powerful,  and  formidable,  before  the  days  of  Bonaparte's  governmoni  ; 
that  he  found  in  her  great  physical  and  moral  resources ;  that  he  had 
but  to  turn  them  to  account.  True,  and  he  did  so.  Compare  the 
situation  in  which  he  found  France  with  that  to  which  he  has  raised 
her.  I  am  no  panegyrist  of  Bonaparte ;  but  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes 
to  the  superiority  of  his  talents,  to  the  amazing  ascendency  of  his 
genius.  Tell  me  not  of  his  measures  and  his  policy.  It  is  his  genius, 
his  character,  that  keeps  the  world  in  awe.  Sir,  to  meet,  to  check,  tc 
curb,  to  stand  up  against  him,  we  want  arms  of  the  same  kind.  I  am 
far  from  objecting  to  the  large  military  establishments  which  are  pro- 
posed to  you.  I  vote  for  them,  with  all  my  heart.  But,^  for  the  pur- 
pose  of  coping  with  Bonaparte,  one  great,  commanding  spirit  is  worth 
them  all. 


97.  THE  BALANCE  OP  POWER,  1826.  —  George  Canning. 

But,  then,  Sir,  the  balance  of  power !  Gentlemen  assert  that  the 
entry  of  the  French  army  into  Spain  disturbed  that  balance,  and  WG 
DUf^ht  to  have  gone  to  war  to  restore  it !  Were  there  no  other  means 
than  war  for  restoring  the  balance  of  power  ?  Is  the  balance  of  power 
a  fixed  and  unalterable  standard  ?  Or,  is  it  not  a  standard  perpetu- 
ally varying,  as  civilization  advances,  and  as  new  Nations  sprmg  up, 
and  take  their  place  among  established  political  communities  ?  The 
balance  of  power,  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  was  to  be  adjusted  between 
France  and  Spain,  the  Netherlands,  Austria  and  England.  Some 
years  afterwards,  Russia  assumed  her  high  station  in  European  poli- 
tics. Some  years  after  that,  again,  Prussia  became  not  only  a  sub« 
Btantive,  but  a  preponderating  monarchy.  Thus,  while  the  balance 
of  power  continued  in  principle  the  same,  the  means  of  adjustmg  it 
became  more  varied  and  enlarged.  To  look  to  the  policy  of  Europe  in 
the  times  of  William  and  Anne  to  regulate  the  balance  of  power  in 
Europe  at  the  present  day,  is  to  disregard  the  progress  of  events,  and 
to  confuse  dates  and  facts  which  throw  a  reciprocal  light  upon  each 

other.  „      ,  .  ,    CI  • 

I  admit.  Sir,  that  the  entry  of  a  French  army  into  bpam  was  a 
lisparagcment  to  Great  Britain.  I  do  not  stand  up  here  to  deny  that 
fact  One  of  the  modes  of  redress  was  by  a  direct  attack  upon  France, 
—by  a  war  upon  the  soil  of  Spain.  Was  there  no  other  mode  of 
redreas?  If  France  occupied  Spain,  was  it  necessary,  m  order  tc 
»void  th<^  o,onsequ'\uces  of  that  occupation,  that  we  should  biockad* 


SENATORIAL,  —  CArsKI^(3. 


?    No.    I  looked  another  way.    I  sought  materials  of  compen. 
nation  in  anotner  hemisphere.     Contemplating  Spain  such  as  oui 
ano^istors  had  known  her,  I  resolved  that,  if  France  had  Spain,  it  should 
not  be  Spam  "  with  the  Indies:'    I  called  the  New  World  into  exist- 
ence,  to  redress  the  balance  of  the  Old !    Thus,  Sir,  T  answer  the 
question  of  the  occupation  of  Spain  by  the  army  of  France,  That 
occupation  is  an  unpaid  and  unredeemed  burden  to  France.  Franc6 
would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  possession  of  Spain.    France  would 
be  very  glad  if  England  were  to  assist  her  to  get  rid  of  that  posses- 
sion ;  and  the  only  way  to  rivet  France  to  the  possession  of  Sp'^^^n  is 
to  make  that  possession  a  point  of  honor.    The  object  of  the  measure 
before  the  House  is  not  war.    It  is  to  take  the  last  chance  of  peace. 
If  you  do  not  go  forth,  on  this  occasion,  to  the  aid  of  Portugal,  For- 
tugal  will  be  trampled  doWn,  to  your  irrecoverable  disgrace ;  and  then 
war  will  come,  and  come,  too,  in  the  train  of  degradation.    If  you 
wait  until  Spain  have  courage  to  mature  her  secret  machinations  into 
open  hostility,  you  will,  in  a  little  while,  have  the  sort  of  war  required 
by  the  pacificators :  and  who  shall  say  where  that  war  shall  end  ? 


98.  A  COLLISION  OP  VICES,  \%2h.— George  Canning. 

My  honorable  and  learned  friend  *  began  by  telling  us  that,  after 
all,  hatred  is  no  bad  thing  in  itself.    "  I  hate  a  tory,"  says  my  honor- 
able friend ;  "and  another  man  hates  a  cat ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that 
he  would  hunt  down  the  cat,  or  I  the  tory."    Nay,  so  far  from  it, 
hatred,  if  it  be  properly  managed,  is,  according  to  my  honorable 
friends  theory,  no  bad  preface  to  a  rational  esteem  and  affection.  It 
prepares  its  votaries  for  a  reconciliation  of  differences ;  for  lyino-  down 
with  their  most  inveterate  enemies,  like  the  leopard  and  the  kid^in  the 
vision  of  the  prophet.    This  dogma  is  a  little  startling,  but  it  is  not 
altogether  without  precedent.    It  is  borrowed  from  a  character  in  a 
play,^which  is,  I  dare  say,  as  great  a  favorite  with  my  learned  friend 
as  it  IS  with  me,  —  I  mean  the  comedy  of  the  Rivals ;  in  which  Mrs 
Malaprop,  giving  a  lecture  on  the  subject  of  marriage  to  her  niece 
(who  IS  unreasonable  enough  to  talk  of  liking,  as  a  necessary  prelim, 
mary  to  such  a  union),  says,  "  What  have  you  to  do  with  your  likings 
and  your  preferences,  child?     Depend  upon  it,  it  is  safest  to  betrfn 
with  a  httle  aversion.    I  am  sure  I  hated  your  poor  dear  uncle  like  a 
blackamoor  before  we  were  married ;  and  yet,  you  know,  my  dear 
what  a  good  wife  I  mad^  him."    Such  is  my  learned  friend's  argu-' 
ment,  to  a  hair.    But,  finding  that  this  doctrine  did  not  appear  to  go 
down  with  the  House  so  glibly  as  he  had  expected,  my  honorable  and 
learned  friend  presently  charged  his  tack,  and  put  forward  a  theory 
which,  whether  for  novelty  or  for  beauty,  I  pronounce  to  be  incom- 
parable;  and,  in  short,  as  wanting  nothing  to  recommend  it  but  a 
Blight  foundation  in  truth.    "True  philosophy,"  says  my  hoscrab'g 
triend,  "  will  always  continue  to  lead  men  to  virtue  by  the  ^"nstrument^ 
*  Sir  James  Mackintosh 


254 


IHE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


ality  of  their  conflicting  vices.  The  virtues,  where  more  than  on« 
exists,  may  live  harmoniously  together;  but  the  vices  bear  mortal 
antipathy  to  one  another,  and,  therefore,  furnish  to  the  moral  engineci 
the  power  by  which  he  can  make  each  keep  the  othei-  under  control.'' 
Admirable !  but,  upon  this  doctrine,  the  poor  man  who  has  but  one 
single  vice  must  be  in  a  very  bad  way.  No  fulcvum,  no  moral  power, 
for  effecting  his  cure  !  Whereas,  his  more  fo?  tunate  neighbor,  who 
has  two  or  more  vices  in  his  composition,  is  in  a  fair  way  of  becoming 
a  very  virtuous  member  of  society.  I  wonder  how  my  learned  friend 
vrould  like  to  have  this  doctrine  introduced  into  his  domestic  establish- 
ment. For  instance,  suppose  that  I  discharge  a  servant  because  he  is 
addicted  to  liquor,  I  could  not  venture  to  recommend  him  to  my  honor- 
able and  learned  friend.  It  might  be  the  poor  man's  only  fault,  and 
therefore  clearly  incorrigible ;  but,  if  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  find 
out  that  he  was  also  addicted  to  stealing,  might  I  not,  with  a  safe  con- 
science,  send  him  to  my  learned  friend  with  a  strong  recommendation, 
saying,  "  I  send  you  a  man  whom  I  know  to  be  a  drunkard ;  but  I 
am  happy  to  assure  you  he  is  also  a  thief :  you  cannot  do  better  than 
employ  him  ;  you  will  make  his  drunkenness  counteract  his  thievery, 
and  no  doubt  you  will  bring  him  out  of  the  conflict  a  very  moral  per- 
sonage ! " 


89  ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA.  —  Sir  James  Mackintosh.    Born,  1765  5  died,  1832 

The  laws  of  England,  founded  on  principles  of  liberty,  are  still,  in 
substance,  the  code  of  America.  Our  writers,  our  statutes,  the  most 
modern  decisions  of  our  judges,  are  quoted  in  every  court  of  justice, 
from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Mississippi.  English  law,  as  well  as 
English  liberty,  are  the  foundations  on  which  the  legislation  of  Amer- 
ica Is  founded.  The  authority  of  our  jurisprudence  may  survive  the 
power  of  our  Grovernment  for  as  many  ages  as  the  laws  of  Rome  com- 
manded the  reverence  of  Europe,  after  the  subversion  of  her^empire. 
Our  language  is  as  much  that  of  America  as  it  is  that  of  England. 
As  America  increases,  the  glory  of  the  great  writers_  of  England 
increases  with  it ;  the  admirers  of  Shakspeare  and  of  JMilton  are  mul- 
tiplied :  the  fame  of  every  future  Englishman  of  genius  is  more  widely 
spread.  Is  it  unreasonable,  then,  to  hope  that  these  ties  of  birth,  of 
liberty,  of  laws,  of  language  and  of  literature,  may  in  time  prevail 
-^ver  vulgar,  ignoble,  and  ruinous  prejudices  ?  Their  ancestors  were 
as  much  the  countrymen  c>f  Bacon  and  Newton,  of  Hampden  and  Sid- 
ney, as  ours.  They  are  entitled  to  their  full  share  of  that  inheritance 
of  glory  which  has  descended  from  our  common  forefathers.  Neither 
\he  liberty  of  England,  nor  her  genius,  nor  the  noble  language  which 
that  genius  has  consecrated,  is  worthy  of  their  disregard.  All  theao 
aonoM  are  theirs,  if  they  -^hoosc  to  preserve  them.  The  history  of  Eng. 
land,  till  the  adoption  of  counsels  adverse  to  liberty,  is  their  history 
We  may  still  preserve  or  revive  kindred  feelings.  Thei/  may  claini 
aoblfi  ancf'.stors.  and  we  may  look  forward  to  renowned  descondan^B 


SENATORIAL.  — -  BROUGHAM.  255 

S  i  '  ^  r^'"^^^  inherited,  and  lead  us  to  envy  that  gi^eatn^ 
»Iuch  has  anseu  from  our  institutions  and  will  perpetuate  our  ianie 

100.  THE  FATE  Of  THE  KEIOKMEK,  1830.  _£„.  (  Broughim 

I  HATE  heard  it  said  that  when  one  lifts  up  his  roice  against  thing, 
that  are  and  wishes  for  a  change,  he  is  raising  a  clamor  against  exist- 
mg  institutions  a  elamor  against  our  yenerable  estabHshments,  a 
clamor  against  the  law  of  the  land,  but  this  is  no  clamor  against  he 
0.10  or  the  other,  -  rt  is  a  clamor  against  the  abuse  of  thomlll  It 
IS  a  clamor  raised  agamst  the  grieyances  that  are  felt.  Mr  Burke 
who  was  no  fnend  to  popular  excitement,  -  who  was  no  readj  tool  of 
vfue   ofTh  '^'''^S  establishments,  no  under- 

tTnn,      tl,       "    T  "^■'T  ™  «g^™«t  institu- 

tions as  they  are,  — has  said,  and  it  deserves  to  be  fixed  in  letters  of 
gold  over  the  hall  of  every  assembly  which  calls  itself  "egisltive  tedy 

-  WheEE  there  is  abuse,  there  OOOHT  to  be  clamor  ;  BECAUSE  IT 
IS  BETTER  TO  HAVE  OUR  SLUMBER  BROKEN  BY  THE  FIRE-BkL,  THAN  Z 

PERISH,  AMIDST  THE  FLAMES,  IN  OUR  BED."  I  have  been  told  by 
Who  have  httle  objection  to  the  clamor,  that  I  am  a  timid  and  a  m 
reformer;  arid  by  others,  if  I  go  on  firmly  and  steadily,  and  d^^ot 
a  low  myself  to  be  driven  aside  by  either  one  outcry  or  another,  and 
care  for  neither,  that  It  is  a  rash  and  dangerous  innovation  wh  eh  I 
profound;  and  that  I  am  taking,  for  the  subject  of  my  reckless  ex^ri- 
ment«  things  wh.ch  are  the  objects  of  all  men's  veneration.  I  dLe- 
gard  the  one  as  much  as  I  disregard  the  other  of  these  charges. 

•'  False  honor  charms,  and  lying  slander  scares. 
Whom,  but  the  false  and  faulty  1 "  * 

bnnn  ^  ""T      ^"^     -^'^  ^S"'^  ^Spired  at  tiie 

bTt  bv  f        '"^*T""f'     """^^S  to        their  pa  L 

b,  set  by  every  persecution  from  adversaries,  by  every  misconstruction 

om  ttotr"  Tbr ^  r--""  — o" 

rom  the  other !    To  be  misconstrued,  misrepresented,  borne  down  till 

It  was  in  vain  to  bear  down  any  longer,  has  been  their  fate.  67"™! 

will  survive,  and  calumny  has  its  day.    I  say  that,  if  this  be  "he  feto 

01  the  reformer.  -  if  he  be  the  object  of  misrepre^ntation  -  may  nol 

an  inference  be  drawn  favorable  to  myself?    Taunted  by  the  "niie 

rf  reform  as  being  too  rash,  by  the  over-zealous  friends  of  reform  L 

being  too  slow  or  too  cold,  there  is  every  reason  for  presumint  thati 

his  career;  not  misled,  on  the  one  hand,  by  panegyric,  nor  discouriod 
by  slander  on  the  other.    He  wants  no  p'raL.       w^uld  rather 
-    Woe  to  him  when  all  men  speak  well  of  him  !  "    I  shall  ao  i, 
m  the  ^urse  which  I  have  laid  down  for  myself;  pursuing  X^foT 

*  Falsus  honor  juvat  et  mendax  infamia  terret 
tiuem,  nisi  mendosum  et  mendacem  i 


256  THE  STANDAED  SPEAKER. 

Steps  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us,  who  have  left  us  their  instruc 
tions  and  success,  their  instructions  to  guide  our  walk,  and  then  suo 
ijess  to  cheer  our  spirits. 

101.    PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM,  1831. -Lord  BwAawi. 

My  Lords,  I  do  not  disguise  the  intense  solicitude  which  I  feel  ^(y 
the  event  of  this  debate,  because  I  know  full  well  that  the  peace  of 
the  country  is  involved  in  the  issue.    I  cannot  look  without  dismay  a 
the  rejection  of  this  measure  of  Parliamentary  Reform     But,  gnevou, 
as  may  be  the  consequences  of  a  temporary  defeat,^  temporary  it  can 
only  be;  for  its  ultimate,  and  even  speedy  success,  is  certain  Noth- 
in/can  now  stop  it.    Do  not  suffer  yourselves  to  be  persuaded  that 
even  if  the  present  Ministers  were  driven  from  the  helm,  any  one  could 
steer- you  through  the  troubles  which  surround  pu,  without  reiorm 
But  our  successors  would  take  up  the  task  m  circumstances  far  le^s 
fuspicious.    Under  them,  you  would  be  fain  to  grant  a  bill,  compa  d 
with  which,  the  one  we  now  proffer  you  is  moderate  indeed.    Hear  the 
parable  of  the  Sibyl ;  for  it  conveys  a  wise  and  wholesome  moral,  fehe 
now  appears  at  your  gate,  and  offers  you  mildly  the  volumes the 
p?ecious^olumesl.of  w^^^^^    and  peace.    The  price  she  asks  is  rea^ 
Bonable;  to  restore  the  franchise,  which,  without  any  bargain  you 
ought  voluntarily  to  give.    You  refuse  her  terms  ~  her  moderat 
terms  ;  -  she  darkens  fhe  porch  no  longer.    But  soon  -  for  you  cannot 
do  without  her  wares-you  call  her  back.   Agam  she  comes,  but^with 
diminished  treasures  ;  the  leaves  of  the  book  are  m  part  torn  away  by 
hwless  hands,  in  part  defaced  with  characters  of  blood.     But  the 
"^^^^  has^isen  in  her  demands  ;  -it  is  --^^^^^^^^ 
tear -it  is  Vote  by  the  Ballot -it  is  suffrage  by  the  million  . 
From  this  you  turn  away  indignant;  and,  for  the  second  time,  she 
departs.     Beware  of  her 'third  coming !  for  the  treasure  you  ....^ 
have  ;  and  what  price  she  may  next  demand,  who  shall  tell  ?    it  may 
evin  be  the  mace  which  rests  upon  that  woolsack !    What  may  folbw 
your  course  of  obstinacy,  if  F-i^^ed  in,  I  cannot  take  upon  m^^^ 
diet  nor  do  I  wish  to  conjecture.    But  this  I  know  full  well ,  that, 
a;tre;a  man  ismortal,aid  to  err  is  human  i-t  ce d^^^^^^^^^^ 
the  price  at  which  yo.i  must  purchase  safety  ^^^.^ /^^^^^ '  "-."^^ 
you  expect  to  gather  in  another  crop  than  they  did  who  went  before 
you  if  vou  peisevere  in  their  utterly  abominable  husbandry,  of  sowing 

^^^':^rr  that  now  bow  down  my  mm^ 

there  is  one  that  stands  preeminent  above  the  rest.  Yo^  t^^^ 
LigLrjudicature  in  the  rLlm  ;  you  sit  here  as  judges  and  decide  a^ 
causes  civil  and  r-riminal,  without  appeal.  It  is  a  judge  s  fiist  duty 
to  p  onounce  a  sentence,  in  the  most  trifling  -se,  withou^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
mg.  Will  you  make  this  the  exception  ?  Are  you  really  m-^^^J^ 
determine,  but  not  to  hear,  the  mighty  cause,  upon  which  a  Na^on 
hnnP.  nnd  fears  hancr?  You  are?  Then  bcwart)  of  your  decision  1 
Ho';;  nt  fblechV  a  peace-loving  but  a  resolute  People  !  ahon 


SENATOftfAL.  O'C  »Nx\ELL.  25 

ite  not  I'rom  jour  body  the  affections  of  a  whole  Empire '  Ab  your 
friend  as  tha  fnend  of  my  order,  as  the  friend  of  m  y ^country  as^the 
a  thfal  se™t  of  my  sovereign,  I  counsel  you  to  assist,  wi  h  your 
littermost  efforts,  in  preserving  the  peace,  and  upholding,  and  perpetj 
a  mg  he  Constitution.  Therefore,  I  pray  and  exhort  you^  no'tl) 
reject  this  measure.  By  all  you  hold  most  dear,  by  all  the  ties  that 
bind  every  one  of  us  to  our  common  order  and  our  common  country,  T 
^olemnly  adjure  you,  I  warn  you,  I  implore  you,  -  yea,  on  my  bended 
knees,  I  supplicate  you,  ~  reject  not  this  bill !  ^  '  ^^"^^^ 
—  ^  

102.  UNIVERSAL  RELIGIOUS  LIBERTY. -Daniel  O^Connell 

3ye  while  he  wept  with  tlie  other.     llis  fnn  vvas  inexhSwe      O  Pn*^  '  n  ^"'^ 
T  oient  and  vituperative  in  his  denunciations,^  t^ey  consea^^^^  ^^^"^ 
abuse  that  is  palpably  exaggerated  is  not  much  to  KaTed  ^      ^    '^^^  ° 

Can  anything  be  more  absurd  and  untenable  than  the  ar^rument  of 
the  learned  gentleman,  when  you  see  it  stripped  of  the  false  coloring 
he  has  given  to  it?    First,  he  alleges  that  the  Catholics  are  attached 
to  their  religion  with  a  bigoted  zeal.    I  admit  the  zeal,  but  I  utterly 
deny  the  bigotry.    He  proceeds  to  insist  that  these  feelings,  on  our 
part,  j^istify  the  apprehensions  of  Protestants.    The  Catholics,  he  says 
are  alarmed  for  their  Church;   why  should  not  the  Protestants  be 
alarmed,  also,  for  heirs  ?    The  Catholic  desires  safety  for  his  religion 
why  should  not  the  Protestant  require,  security  for  his  ?    Hence  he 
concludes,  that,  merely  because  the  Catholic  desires  to  keep  his  relio-'un 
iree,  the  Protestant  is  thereby  justified  in  seeking  to  enskve  it  ^e 
says  that  our  anxiety  for  the  preservation  of  our  Church  vindicates 
those  who  deem  the  proposed  arrangement  necessary  for  the  protection 
0  theirs;  — ^  mode  of  reasoning  perfectly  true,  and  perfectly  applica- 
ble,  if  we  sought  any  interference  with,  or  control  over,  the  Protestant 
Lhurch,  — if  we  asked  or  required  that  a  single  Catholic  should  be 
consulted  upon  the  management  of  the  Protestant  Church,  or  of  it<. 
revenues  or  privileges. 

But  the  fact  does  not  bear  him  out ;  for  we  do  not  seek  nor  desire 
mr  would  we  accept  of,  any  kind  of  interference  with  the  Protestant 
U  lurcii.  VVe  disclaim  ar.d  disavow  any  kind  of  control  over  it  We 
ask  not,  nor  would  we  allow,  any  Catholic  authority  over  the  mode  of 
ai  rointment  of  their  clergy.  Nay,  we  are  quite  content  to  be  excluded 
loj-ever  from  even  advising  his  Majesty  with  respect  to  any  n^atter 
r€  ating  to  or  concerning  the  Protestant  Church,  -  its  rights  its  prop- 
erties  01  Its  privileges.  I  will,  for  my  own  part,  go  much  further 
and  1  do  declare,  most  solemnly,  that  I  would  feel  and  express  equal 
If  not  stronger  repugnance,  to  the  interference  of  a  Catholic  with  the 
Protestant  Church,  than  that  I  have  expressed  and  do  feel  to  anv 
Protestant  interference  with  ours.  In  opposing  their  interference  with 
as.  i  content  myself  with  the  mere  war  of  words.    But,  if  the  case 


258 


ZltE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


were  reversed,  --  if  tlie  Catholic  sought  this  control  over  the  religion 
of  the  Protestant,  —  the  Protestant  should  command  my  heart,  mj 
tongue,  my  arm,  in  opposition  to  so  unjust  and  insulting  a  measure. 
So  help  me  God !  I  would,  in  that  case,  not  only  feel  for  the  Protestant, 
and  speak  for  him,  but  I  would  fight  for  him,  and  cheerfully  sacrifice 
»ny  life  in  defence  of  the  great  principle  for  which  1  have  ever  con- 
tended, —  the  principle  of  universal  and  complete  religious  liberty  I 


103.  ON  THE  IRISH  DISTURBANCE  BILL.  —  Dante/  O'Connell. 

I  DO  not  rise  to  fawn  or  cringe  to  this  House ;  —  I  do  not  rise  tc 
supplicate  you  to  'oe  merciful  toward  the  Nation  to  which  I  belong,  — 
toward  a  Nation  which,  though  subject  to  England,  yet  is  distinct  from 
it.  It  is  a  distinct  Nation  :  it  has  been  treated  as  such  by  this  country, 
as  may  be  proved  by  history,  and  by  seven  hundred  years  of  tyranny. 
I  call  upon  this  House,  as  you  value  the  liberty  of  England,  not  to 
allow  the  present  nefarious  bill  to  pass.  In  it  are  involved  the  liberties 
of  England,  the  liberty  of  the  Press,  and  of  every  other  institution 
dear  to  Englishmen.  Against  the  bill  I  protest,  in  the  name  of  the 
Irish  People,  and  in  the  face  of  Heaven.  I  treat  with  scorn  the  puny 
and  pitifal  assertions,  that  grievances  are  not  to  be  complained  of,  — 
that  our  redress  is  not  to  be  agitated ;  for,  in  such  cases,  remonstrances 
cannot  be  too  strong,  agitation  cannot  be  too  violent,  to  show  to  the 
world  with  what  injustice  our  fair  claims  are  met,  and  under  what 
tyranny  the  People  suffer.  . 

The  clause  which  does  away  with  trial  by  jury,  —  what,  in  the 
name  of  Heaven,  is  it,  if  it  is  not  the  establishment  of  a  revolutionary 
tribunal  ?  It  drives  the  judge  from  his  bench ;  it  does  away  with 
that  which  is  more  sacred  than  the  Throne  itself,  —  that  for  which  your 
king  reigng,  vcur  lords  deliberate,  your  commons  assemble.  If  ever  I 
doubted,  before,  of  the  success  of  our  agitation  for  repeal,  this  bill,  -— 
this  infamous  bill,  —  the  way  in  which  it  has  been  received  by  the 
House ;  the  manner  in  which  its  opponents  have  been  treated ;  the  per- 
eonalities  to  which  they  have  been  subjected ;  the  yells  with  which 
one  of  them  has  this  night  been  greeted,  —  all  these  things  dissipate 
my  doubts,  and  t^ll  me  of  its  complete  and  early  triumph.  Do  you 
think  those  yells  will  be  forgotten?  Do  you  suppose  their  echo  will 
not  reach  the  plains  of  my  injured  and  insulted  country ;  that  they 
will  not  be  whispered  in  her  green  valleys,  and  heard  from  her  lolty 
hills  ?  0,  they  will  be  heard  there  !  —  yes ;  and  they  will  not  be  for- 
gotten  The  youth  of  Ireland  will  bound  with  indignation  ,  -  -  they 
will  say,  We  are  eight  millions ;  and  you  treat  us  thus,  as  though  we 
were  no  more  to  your  country  than  the  isle  of  Guernsey  or  of  J ersey  ! ' 

I  have  done  my  duty.    I  stand  acquitted  to  my  conscience  and 
oountry.    I  have  opposed  this  measure  throughout ;  and  I  now  pr^ 
test  against  it,  as  harsh,  oppressive,  uncalled  for,  unjust;  —  as  estab 
lishing  an  infamous  precedent,  by  retaliating  crime  against  cnme;  - 
u  tyrannous,     cruelly  and  vindictively  tyrannous ! 


SENATORIAL.   BTEON.  258 

».  IHE  DJAIIl  .-INALTV  FOR  NEW  OFFENCES,  im.-Lora  Byron.  B.        ;  ^.1821 

Settinq  aside  the  pjpable  injustice  and  the  certain  inefficiency  of 
U1.S  liill,  are  there  not  capital  punishments  sufficient  in  your  statutes.! 
LZT!-  ™\"<""'  ^T^'^l  "PO"  JO"--  penal  code,  that  more  must  be 
loured  forth  to  ascend  to  Heaven  and  testify  against  you  ?  How  will 
you  carry  th;s  Bill  mto  effect  ?  Can  you  commit  a  whole  country  t» 
their  own  prison  ?  Will  you  erect  a  gibbet  in  every  field,  and  han^  up 
men  like  scarecrows  ?  or  will  you  proceed  (as  you  must,  to  bring°thi^ 
measure  into  effect)  by  decimation;  place  the  country  ^nder  m!rtS 
law;  depopulate  and  lay  waste  all  around  you;  and  ristore  Sherwood 
Forest  as  an  acceptable  gift  to  the  Grown,  in  its  former  condition  of  a 
royal  chase,  and  an  asylum  for  outlaws  ?  Are  these  the  remedies  for 
a  starving  and  desperate  populace?  Will  the  famished  wretch  who 
h  ^  tZf  T""  ,t"^/.PP^"«d  by  your  gibbets  ?    When  death 

is  a  relief,  and  the  only  relief  ,t  appears,  that  you  will  afford  him,  will 
/k"""™"'^  mto  tranquillity?    Will  that  which  could  not  be 
effected  by  your  grenadiers  be  accomplished  by  your  executioners  ? 

If  you  proceed  by  the  forms  of  law,  where  is  your  evidence  ?  Those 
who  have  refused  to  impeach  their  accomplices  when  transportation  only 
w  as  the  punishment,  will  hardly  be  tempted  to  witness  against  them  when 

rThtr,  nr'"^\-  ^-'^       '^'^'^''"^  '°  Lords  opposite! 

1  think  a  little  investigation  -  some  previous  inquiry  —  would  induct 
ven  thern  to  change  their  purpose.   That  most  favoiL  State  meiu"^ 
0  marvellously  efccacious  in  many  and  recent  instances,  -  ten^porij. 
mg,  -  would  not  be  without  its  advantage  in  this.    When  a  proposal 
IS  made  to  emancipate  or  relieve,  you  hesUate,  you  deliberate  f.Fr  Tars 
-you  tempome  aJid  tamper  with  the  minds  of  men;  but  a  death-bil 
mus^  be  passed  off  hand,  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences.  Sure 
I  am  from  what  I  have  heard,  and  from  what  I  have  se^n,  that  to  pa^' 
?  !!•  circumstances,  without  inquiry,  with- 

S  JtTegSt.™"''  ^ 
tb  J''a/k'""'"'%°^  ^H'        ^  to  inl'erit  the  honors  of 

men  «s  T  h»!„  '"PP°'"^  "  passed, -suppose  one  of  these 

f^T/T-  ^''"^  with  despair, 

Z  hln/lt  "fy,^  f  '''''  to  value  a 

something  less  than  the  price  of  a  stocking-frame,  —  suppose  this  man 

'he  e„^!\  r°  "^'°"gf  ?  support; -suppose  this  man, -and 
theie  are  ten  thousand  such,  from  whom  you  may  select  your  victim^ 

iTw  T  new  offence.^  this  new 

Z'thS  '  ^^"'^  to  convict  and  condemn  him, 

"r  a  Jule'- ' ''"'^'^''^      ^  J"^?' 

o  ■ 

•  Draoon.  the  author  of  the  first  TrrUf^n  ^« 


260 


THE  STANDARD  gPE^viCER. 


105.  ON  CHARGES  AGA.NST  ROMAN  CATHOLICS,  182  B.  —  SAfj/. 

Richard  Lalor  Sheil  was  born  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  August  i6th,  1791,  and  died  at  florenoa 
Italy,  where  he  held  the  post  of  British  Minister,  May  25th,  1851.  He  was  returned  to  thi 
Imperial  Pai-liaraent  in  1829,  and  for  twenty  years  was  a  prominent  memljer  of  the  House  of 
Commons.  A  contemporary  says  of  him :  "  His  great  earnestness  and  apparent  sincerity,  hi* 
jmrivalled  felicity  of  illustration,  his  extraordinary  power  of  pushing  the  meaning  of  words  to 
the  utmost  extent,  and  wringing  from  them  a  force  beyond  the  range  of  ordinary  ex-pression. 
were  such,  that,  when  he  rose  to  speak,  members  took  their  places,  and  the  hum  of  private  con- 
versation was  hushed,  in  order  that  the  House  might  enjoy  the  performances  of  an  a/;eomplisbeii 
artist."  His  style  of  speaking  was  peculiar;  his  gesticulation  rapid,  fierce,  aud  incessant; 
his  enunciation  remarkably  quick  and  impetuous.  His  matter  was  uniformly  well  arranged 
and  loeical.    He  cnrefuUy  prepared  himself  before  speaking. 

Calumniators  of  Catholicism,  have  you  read  the  history  of  jom 
country  ?  Of  the  charges  against  the  religion  of  Ireland,  the  annals 
of  England  afford  the  confutation.  The  body  of  your  common  law  was 
given  by  the  Catholic  Alfred.  He  gave  you  your  judges,  yofir  magis- 
trates, your  high-sheriffs,  your  courts  of  justice,  your  elective  system, 
and,  the  great  bulwark  of  your  liberties,  the  trial  by  jury.  Who  con- 
ferred upon  the  People  the  right  of  self-taxation,  and  fixed,  if  he  did 
not  create,  their  representation  ?  The  Catholic  Edward  the  First ; 
while,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Third,  perfection  was  given  to  the 
representative  system,  Parliaments  were  annually  called,  and  the 
statute  against  constructive  treason  was  enacted.  It  is  false,  —  foully, 
infamously  false,  —  that  the  Catholic  religion,  the  religion  of  your 
forefathers,  the  religion  of  seven  millions  of  your  fellow-subjects,  haa 
been  the  auxiliary  of  debasement,  and  that  to  its  influence  the  sup- 
pression of  British  freedom  can,  in  a  single  instance,  be  referred.  I 
am  loath  to  say  that  which  can  give  you  cause  to  take  offence ;  but, 
when  the  faith  of  my  country  is  made  the  object  of  imputation,  I 
cannot  help,  I  cannot  refrain,  from  breaking  into  a  retaliatory  inter- 
rogation, and  from  asking  whether  the  overthrow  of  the  old  religion  of 
England  was  not  effected  by  a  tyrant,  with  a  hand  of  iron  and  a  heart 
of  stone  ;  — whether  Henry  did  not  trample  upon  freedom,  while  upon 
Catholicism  he  set  his  foot ;  and  whether  Elizabeth  herself,  the  virgin 
of  the  Reformation,  did  not  inherit  her  despotism  with  her  creed ; 
whether  in  her  reign  the  most  barbarous  atrocities  were  not  committed ; 
— whether  torture,  in  violation  of  the  Catholic  common  law  of  England, 
was  not  politically  inflicted,  and  with  the  shrieks  of  agony  the  Towers 
of  Julius,  in  the  dead  of  night,  did  not  reecho  ? 

You  may  suggest  to  me  that  in  the  larger  portion  of  Catholio 
Europe  freedom  does  not  exist ;  but  you  should  bear  in  mind  that,  at 
a  period  when  the  Catholic  religion  was  in  its  most  palmy  state,  free- 
dom flouiished  in  the  countries  in  which  it  is  now  extinct.  False.  —  I 
repeat  it,  with  all  the  vehemence  of  indignant  asseveration, —  utterly 
false  is  the  charge  habitually  preferred  against  tlie  religion  which 
Slngliahmen  have  laden  with  penalties,  and  have  marked  with  degrada- 
tion. I  can  bear  with  any  other  charge  but  this  —  to  any  other  charge 
I  can  listen  with  endurance.  Tell  me  that  I  prostrate  niysuif  before  a 
sculptured  marble ;  tell  me  that  to  a  canvass  glowing  with  the 
imagery  of  Heaven  I  bend  my  knee  ;  tell  mo  that  my  faith  is  my 
perdition ;  —  and,  as  you  traverse  the  church-yards  in  which  vour  for©- 


SEN ATtjRlAL.  —  SHEIL.  I  [  j j  ]  AJ^  ^ 

ihthers  are  buried,  pronounce  upon  those  who  have  lain\W 3  mari|'^'""' 
hundred  jears  a  fearful  and  appalling  sentence, --yeO&ir -wliat  Ol"^ 
regard  as  the  truth  not  only  an  error,  but  a  sin,  to  which  mercy  shalJ—^- ' 
not  be  extended,  —  all  this  I  will  bear,  —  to  all  this  I  will  submit  — '  '  ~ 
nay,  at  all  this  I  will  but  smile,  — but  do  not  tell  me  that  I  am'  iis 
neart  and  creed  a  slave !  —  That,  my  countrym-en  cannot  brook  !  In 
fcheir  own  bosoms  they  carry  the  high  consciousness  that  never  waa 
msf  ;utation  more  foully  false,  or  more  detestably  calumnious ' 


106.  IRISH  ALIENS  AND  ENGLISH  YICTORIES.  -  Shetl 
lattei  halt  of  this  speech  demands  great  rapidity  of  utterance  in  the  delivery. 

I  SHOULD  be  surprised,  indeed,  if,  while  you  are  doing  us  wrong,  vou 
did  not  profess  your  solicitude  to  do  us  justice.    From  the  day  on  which 
btrongbow  set  his  foot  upon  the  shore  of  Ireland,  Eno-Hshmen  were 
never  wanting  m  protestations  of  their  deep  anxiety  to  do  us  iustic-  • 
-even  Strafford,  the  deserter  of  the  People's  cause,  — the  renegade 
VVentworth,  who  gave  evidence  in  Ireland  of  the  spirit  of  instinctive 
tyranny  which  predominated  in  his  character,  —  even  Strafford,  while 
ho  trampled  upon  our  rights,  and  trod  upon  the  heart  of  the  country 
protested  his  solicitude  to  do  justice  to  Ireland !    What  marvel  is  it' 
then,  that  (gentlemen  opposite  should  deal  in  such  vehement  protesta- 
tions ?   There  is,  however,  one  man,  of  great  abilities,  —  not  a  member 
ot  this  House,  but  whose  talents  and  whose  boldness  have  placed  him 
m  the  topmost  place  in  his  party,  —  who,  disdaining  all  imposture,  and 
thinking  it  the  best  course  to  appeal  directly  to  the  relicrious  and 
national  antipathies  of  the  People  of  this  country,  -  abandoning  all 
reserve  and  flinging  off  the  slender  veil  by  which  his  political  associ- 
ates  affect  to  cover,  although  they  cannot  hide,  their  motives,  —  dis- 
tinct  y  and  audaciously  tells  the  Irish  People  that  they  are  not 
entitled  to  the  same  privileges  as  Englishmen;  and  pronounces  them 
m  any  particu  ar  which  could  enter  his  minute  enumeration  of  the 
circumstances  by  which  fellow-citizenship  is  created,  in  race,  idenjitv 
and  religion  to  be  aliens; -to  be  aliens  in  race,  to  be  aliens  ii 
country  to  be  aliens  in  religion  !    Aliens  !  good  God !  was  Arthur, 
Duke  of  Wellington,  in  the  House  of  Lords,  -  aid  did  he  not  start  .x^ 
and  exclaim  ''Hold!  I  have  seen  the  aliens  do  their  duty!^ 
The  Duke  of  Wellmgton  is  not  a  man  of  an  excitable  temperament 
His  mind  LS  of  a  cast  too  martial  to  be  easily  moved ;  but  notwith. 
Btandmgbs  habitual  iiiflexibility,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  when  he 
Jeard  his  Ivoman  Catholic  countrymen  (for  we  are  his  countrymen) 
dosignatea  -^y  a  pnrase  as  offensive  as  the  abundant  vocabulary  of  his 
doquent  contederat^  could  supply, -I  cannot  help  thinking  that 


m 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAiSER. 


ought  to  have  recollected  the  many  fields  of  fight  m  whicti  we  hav« 
been  contributors  to  his  renown.  "  The  battles,  sieges,  fortunes  that 
he  has  passed,"  ought  to  have  come  back  upon  him.  He  ought 
have  remembered  that,  from  the  earliest  achievement  in  which  hi 
displayed  that  military  genius  which  has  placed  him  foremost  in  the 
annals  of  modern  warfare,  down  to  that  last  and  surpassing  combat 
which  has  made  his  name  imperishable,  —  from  Assaye  to  Waterloo^ 

—  -  the  Irish  soldiers,  with  whom  your  armies  are  filled,  were  the 
iiirieparable  auxiliaries  to  the  glory  with  which  his  unparalleled 
successes  have  been  crowned.  Whose  were  the  arms  that  drove 
your  bayonets  at  Vimiera  through  the  phalanxes  that  never  reeled 
in  the  shock  of  war  before?  What  desperate  valor  climbed  the 
steeps  and  filled  the  moats  at  Badajos  ?  All  his  victories  should  have 
fashed  and  crowded  back  upon  his  memory,  —  Vmiiera,  Badajos,  Sal- 
amanca, Albuera,  Toulouse,  and,  last  of  all,  the  greatest  .  Tell 

nje,  —  for  you  were  there,  —  I  appeal  to  the  gallant  soldier  before  me 
(Sir  Henry  Hardinge),  from  whose  opinions  I  dilfer,  but  who  bears, 
I  know,  a  generous  heart  in  an  intrepid  breast ;  —  tell  me,  —  for  you 
must  needs  remember,  —  on  that  day  when  the  destinies  of  mankind 
were  trembling  in  the  balance,  while  death  fell  in  showers,  when 
the  artillery  of  France  was  levelled  with  a  precision  of  the  most  deadly 
science,  —  when  her  legions,  incited  by  the  voice  and  inspired  by  the 
example  of  their  mighty  leader,  rushed  again  and  again  to  the  onset, 

—  tell  me  if,  for  an  instant,  when  to  hesitate  for  an  instant  was  to  be 
lost,  the  "  aliens  "  blenched  ?  And  when,  at  length,  the  moment  for 
the  last  and  decided  movement  had  arrived,  and  the  valor  which  had 
so  long  been  wisely  checked  was,  at  last,  let  loose,  —  when,  with  words 
familiar,  but  immortal,  the  great  captain  commanded  the  great  assault, 

—  tell  me  if  Catholic  Ireland  with  less  heroic  valor  than  the  natives 
of  this  your  own  glorious  country  precipitated  herself  upon  the  foe  ? 
The  blood  of  England,  Scotland,  and  of  Ireland,  flowed  in  the  same 
stream,  and  drenched  the  same  field.  When  the  chill  morning 
dawned,  their  dead  lay  cold  and  stark  together  ;  —  in  the  same  deep 
pit  their  bodies  were  deposited ;  the  green  corn  of  spring  is  now 
breaking  from  their  commingled  dust ;  the  dew  falls  from  Heaven 
upon  their  union  in  the  grave.  Partakers  in  every  peril,  in  the 
glory  shall  we  not  be  permitted  to  participate ;  and  shall  we  be  told, 
OS  a  requital,  that  we  are  estranged  from  the  noble  country  for  whose 
salvation  our  life-blood  was  poured  out  ? 


107.  THE  ESTABLISHED  CHURCH  OF  IRELAND. —/d. 

1  La?  down  a  very  plain  proposition,  and  it  is  this, — however  harsk 
the  truth,  it  must  be  told,  —  it  is  this  :  —  Whatever  may  be  youi 
tQclination,  you  have  not  the  ability  to  maintain  the  Irish  establish' 
inent    Xt  first  view  the  subject  seems  to  be  a  wretched  dispuU 


•  Pronounced  Ba-dah-yhb?, 


SENATORIAL.  SHEIL. 


tK.tween  Catliolic  and  Protestant  —  a  miserable  sectarian  controvers;y 
It  is  no  such  thing;  it  is  the  struggle  for  complete  political  equality 
m  the  part  of  the  overwhelming  majority  upon  the  one  hand,  and  fo/ 
political  ascendency  on  the  part  of  the  minority  on  the  ether.  Cai 
that  ascendency  he  maintained  ?  Taught  so  long,  but  unlnstructed 
Btill,  wherefore,  m  the  same  fatal  policy,  with  an  infatuated  perti- 
nacity,  do  you  disastrously  persevere?  Can  you  wish,  and,  if  you 
wish,  can  ^you  hope,  that  this  unnatural,  galling,  exaspcratinp-  awf^nd- 
ency  shoTild  be  maintained  ?  Things  cannot  remain  as  they  "are.  To 
what  expedient  will  you  fly  ?  Would  you  drive  the  country  into 
insurrection,  cut  down  the  People,  and  bid  the  yeomanry  draw 
forth  the  swords  clotted  with  the  blood  of  1798,  that  they  may  be 
brandished  in  massacre,  and  sheathed  in  the  Nation's  heart?  Foi 
what,  into  these  terrific  possibilities,  are  we  madly,  desperately, 
impiously,  to  plunge  ?  For  the  Irish  Church  !  —  the  Church  of  the 
minority,  long  the  Church  of  the  State,  never  the  Church  of  the 
People;  the  Church  on  which  a  faction  fattens,  by  which  a  Nation 
starves;  the  Church  from  which  no  imaginable  good  can  flow,  but 
evil  after  evil,  in  such  black  and  continuous  abundance,  has  been  for 
centuries,  and  is  to  this  day,  poured  out;  the  Church  by  which 
religion  has  been  retarded,  morahty  has  been  vitiated,  atrocity  has 
been  engendered;  which  standing  armies  are  requisite  to  sustain, 
which  has  cost  England  millions  of  her  treasure,  and  Ireland  torrents 
of  her  blood  ! 

To  distinctions  between  Catholic  and  Protestant  let  there  be  an 
end.  Let  there  be  an  end  to  national  animosities,  as  well  as  to  secta- 
rian detestations.  Perish  the  bad  theology,  which,  with  an  impious 
converse,  makes  God  according  to  man's  image,  and  with  infernal 
passions  fills  the  heart  of  man  !  Perish  the  bad,  the  narrow,  the  per- 
nicious  sentiment,  which,  for  the  genuine  love  of  country,  institutes  a 
feeling  of  despotic  domination  upon  your  part,  and  of  provincial 
turbulence  upon  ours ! 



aHE  repeal  of  the  union,  1834.  — /d. 

The  population  of  Ireland  has  doubled  since  the  Union.  What  is 
the  condition  of  the  mass  of  the  People  ?  Has  her  capital  increased 
m  the  same  proportion  ?  Behold  the  famine,  the  wretchedness  and 
pestilence,  of  the  Irish  hovel,  and,  if  you  have  the  heart  to  do  "^o, 
mock  at  the  calamities  of  the  country,  and  proceed  in  your  demon' 
strafcions  of  the  prosperity  of  Ireland.  The  mass  of  the  Peo})le  are 
m  a  condition  more  wretched  than  that  of  any  Nation  in  Europe ; 
they  are  worse  housed,  worse  covered,  worse  fed,  than  the  basest  boors 
m  the  provinces  of  Russia;  they  dwell  in  habitati^-ns  to  which  youi 
I'wine  would  not  be  committed;  they  are  covered  with  rags  whicr 
your  beggars  would  disdain  to  wear,  and  not  only  do  they  nevei 
taste  the  flesh  of  the  animals  which  crowd  into  your  markets,  but 


^64 


•x'HE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


while  tho  swdiu  drops  from  their  brows,  they  never  touch  the  hn^sA 
into  which  their  harvests  are  converted.  For  yoii  they  toil,  for  you 
they  delve ;  they  reclaim  the  bog,  and  drive  the  plongh  to  the 
mountain's  top,  for  3^ou.  And  where  does  all  this  misery  exist?  Ii. 
a  country  teeming  with  fertility,  and  stamped  with  the  beneficeni 
intents  of  God  !  When  the  famine  of  Ireland  prevailed,  —  when  her 
cries  crossed  the  Channel,  and  pierced  your  ears,  and  reached  youi 
hearts,  —  the  granaries  of  Ireland  were  bursting  with  their  contents 
and,  while  a  People  knelt  down  and  stretched  out  their  hands  for 
food,  the  business  of  deportation,  the  absentee  tribute,  was  going  on  ■ 
Talk  of  the  prosperity  of  Ireland  !  Talk  of  the  external  magnifi 
c    cence  of  a  poor-house,  gorged  with  misery  within  ! 

But  the  Secretary  for  the  Treasury  exclaims :  "If  the  agitators' 
would  but  let  us  alone,  and  allow  Ireland  to  be  tranquil !  "  —  The' 
agitators,  forsooth!  Does  he  venture  —  has  he  the  intrepidity  —  tc 
speak  thus?  Agitators!  Against  deep  potations  let  the  drunkard 
rail ;  —  at  Crockford's  let  there  be  homilies  against  the  dice-box ;  — - 
let  every  libertine  lament  the  progress  of  licentiousness,  when  his 
Majesty's  ministers  deplore  the  influence  of  demagogues,  and  Wliigb 
complain  of  agitation !  How  did  you  carry  the  Reform  ?  Was  it  not 
by  impelling  the  People  almost  to  the  verge  of  revolution?  Was 
there  a  stimulant  for  their  passions,  was  there  a  provocative  for 
their  excitement,  to  which  you  did  not  resort?  If  you  have  for- 
gotten, do  you  think  that  we  shall  fail  to  remember  your  meetings  at 
Edinburgh,  at  Paisley,  at  Manchester,  at  Birmingham  ?  Did  not 
three  hunared  thousand  men  as,-'emble?  Did  they  not  pass  resolu- 
tions against  taxes  ?  Did  they  not  threaten  to  march  on  London  ? 
Did  not  two  of  the  cabinet  minu-iters  indite  to  them  epistles  of  grati- 
tude and  of  admiration  ?  and  do  they  now  dare  —  have  they  the 
audacity  to  speak  of  agitation  ?  Have  we  not  as  good  a  title  to 
demand  the  restitution  of  our  Parliament,  as  the  ministers  to  insist 
on  the  reform  of  this  House  ? 


l&y.  ENGLAND'S  MISIIULE  OP  IRELAND  —  Id.  ^ 

Tf  in  Ireland,  a  country  that  ought  to  teem  with  abundance,  there 
prevans  wreicnedness  without  example,  —  if  millions  of  paupers  are 
there  without  employment,  and  often  without,  food  or  raiment,  —  where 
US  the  fault  ?  Is  it  in  the  sky,  which  showers  verdure  ?  —  is  it  in  tho 
"5oil,  which  is  surprisingly  fertile  ?  — or  is  it  in  the  fatal  course  which 
you  the  arbiters  of  her  destiny,  have  adopted?  She  has  for  centurif« 
belonged  to  England.  England  has  used  her  for  centuries  as  she  has 
pleased.  Iloto  has  she  used  her,  and  what  has  been  the  result?  A 
code  of  laws  was  in  the  first  place  established,  to  which,  in  the  annals 
of  legislative  atrocity,  there  is  not  a  parallel ;  and  of  that  code  — 
those^uistitutes  of  unnatural  ascendency  —  the  Irish  Church  is  a  rem- 
■lant.  In  Heaven's  name,  what  useful  purpose  has  )Our  gorgeoiig 
tJstablishment  ev     promoted  ?    You  cannot  hope  to  proselytize  lu 


"^NAT0R1«.L,  PALMERSTON.  265 

tKrougIt  Its  means.  You  have  put  the  experiment  to  tiie  test  of  three 
centuries,  lou  hive  tried  everything.  If  the  truth  be  with  you,  H 
be  great;  but  in  this  instance  it  does  not  sustain  the  aphorism-^ 
for  It  does  not  prevail.  If,  in  a  religious  point  of  view,  the  K^tab 
Iishment  cannot  conduce  to  the  interests  of  religion,  what  purpose  does 
It  answer  ?  It  is  said  that  it  cements  the  Union  -  cements  the 
Union!  It  furnishes  the  great  argument  against  the  Union:  it  ia 
the  most  degrading  incident  of  all  the  incidents  of  degradation  by 
-  which  that  measure  was  accompanied;  it  is  the  yoke  the  brand,  the 
shame  and  the  exasperation,  of  Ireland  ! 

Public  opinion  and  public  feeling  have  been  created  in  Ireland. 
J>Jen  of  all  classes  have  been  instructed  in  the  principles  on  which  the 
rights  of  Nations  depend.    The  humblest  peasant,  amidst  destitution 
the  most  abject,  has  learned  to  respect  himself    I  remember  when  if 
you  struck  him,  he  cowered  beneath  the  blow;  but  now,  lift  up  your 
hand,  the  spirit  of  insulted  manhood  will  start  up  in  a  bosom  covered 
with  rags,  — his  Celtic  blood  will  boil  as  yours  would  do,  — and  he 
will  feel,_and  _he  will  act,  as  if  he  had  been  born  where  the  person  of 
every  citizen  is  sacred  from  affronts,  and  from  his  birth  had  breathed 
the  moral  atmosphere  which  you  are  accustomed  to  inhale     In  the 
name  of  millions  of  my  countrymen,  assimilated  to  yourselves,  I 
demand  the  reduction  of  a  great  abuse,  -  the  retrenchment  of  a  mon- 
strous sinecure  -I  demand  justice  at  your  hands!    "Justice  to 
Ireland    is  a  phrase  which  has  been,  I  am  well  aware,  treated  as  a  topic 
for  deiasion  ;  but  the  time  will  come,  -nor  is  it,  perhaps,  remote  — 
when  you  will  not  be  able  to  extract  much  matter  for  ridicule  from  those 
trite  but  not  trivial  words.    "  Do  justice  to  America,"  exclaimed  the 
father  of  that  man  by  whom  the  Irish  Union  was  accomplished;  "  do 
It  to-night,  —  do  It  before  you  sleep."    In  your  National  Gallery  is  a 
picture  on  which  Lord  Lyndhurst  should  look  :  it  was  painted  by 
Copley,*  and  represents  the  death  of  Chatham,  who  did  not  live  long 
alter  the  celebrated  invocation  was  pronounced.    "  Do  justice  to 
America,  -  do  it  to-night,  -  do  it  before  you  sleep  ! "  There  were  men 
by  whom  that  warning  was  heard  who  laughed  when  it  was  uttered 
Have  a  care  lest  injustice  to  Ireland  and  to  America  may  not  be 
followed  by  the  same  results,  -  lest  mournfulness  may  not  succeed  to 
mirth,  and  another  page  in  the  history  of  England  may  not  be  writ 
m  her  heart's  blood !  o  ^  »  « 


110    CIVIL  WAR  THE  GREATEST  NATIONAL  BYIL,  1829. -Lord  Palme^ston 

Then  come  we  to  the  last  remedy, -civil  war.  Some  gentlemen 
Tofid^  TrTiT  ^\^^'^^,,r«t  %bt  for  it,  and  the  sword  must 
decide.  They  tel  us  that,  if  blood  were  but  shed  in  Ireland,  Catholic 
emancipation  might  be  avoided.    Sir,  when  honorable  members  shall 


2G6 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


be  a  little  deeper  read  in  the  history  of  Ireland,  they  will  find  that  oj 
[reland  blood  has  been  shed,  —  that  in  Ireland  leaders  have  been  seized 
trials  have  been  had,  and  punishments  have  been  inflicted.  They  will 
find,  indeed,  almost  every  page  of  the  history  of  Ireland  darkened  by 
bloodshed,  by  seizi^res,  by  trials,  and  by  punishments.  But  what  ha*' 
been  the  tjffect  of  those  measures  ?  They  have,  indeed,  been  successful 
in  quelling  the  disturbances  of  the  moment;  but  they  never  have  gone 
to  their  cause,  and  have  only  fixed  deeper  the  poisoned  barb  tliat 
rankles  in  the  heart  of  Ireland.  Can  one  believe  one's  ears,  when  one 
hears  respectable  men  talk  so  lightly  —  nay,  almost  so  wishfullv  —  o*-' 
iivil  war  ?  -Do  they  reiiect  what  a  countless  multitude  of  ills  Vaovf 
three  short  syllables  coutain  ?  It  is  well,  indeed,  for  the  gontleiiicn  of 
Enirland,  who  live  secure  under  the  protecting  shadow  of  the  law, 
*vhose  slumbers  have  never  been  broken  by  the  clashing  of  angry 
dwords,  whose  harvests  have  never  been  trodden  down  by  the  conflict 
of  hostile  feet,  —  it  is  well  for  them  to  talk  of  civil  war,  as  if  it  were 
some  holiday  pastime,  or  some  sport  of  children  :  . 

"  They  jest  at  scars  who  never  felt  a  wound." 

But,  that  gentlemen  from  unfortunate  and  ill-starred  Ireland,  who 
have  seen  with  their  own  eyes,  and  heard  with  their  own  ears,  the  mis- 
eries which  civil  war  produces, — who  have  known,  by  their  own  experi- 
ence, the  barbarism,  ay,  the  barbarity,  which  it  engenders,  —  that 
such  persons  should  look  upon  civil  war  as  anything  short  of  the  last 
and  greatest  of  national  calamities,  —  is  to  me  a  matter  of  the  deepest 
and  most  unmixed  astonishment.  I  will  grant,  if  you  will,  that  the 
success  of  such  a  war  with  Ireland  would  be  as  signal  and  complete 
as  would  be  its  injustice ;  I  will  grant,  if  you  will,  that  resistance 
would  soon  be  extinguished  with  the  lives  of  those  who  resisted ;  I 
will  grant,  if  you  will,  that  the  crimsoned  banner  of  England  would 
soon  wave,  in  undisputed  supremacy,  over  the  smoking  ashes  of  their 
towns,  and  the  blood-stained  solitude  of  their  fields.  But  I  tell  you 
that  England  herself  never  would  permit  the  achievement  of  such  a 
conquest ;  England  would  reject,  with  disgust,  laurels  that  were  dyed 
in  fraternal  blood ;  England  would  recoil,  with  loathing  and  abhor- 
rence, from  the  bare  contemplation  of  so  devilish  a  triumph  I 


111.    ON  PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM.  —Lord  john  Ruxsell,  June  24, 1831. 

1  AM  not  one  of  those.  Sir,  who  would  hold  out  to  the  People  vain 
tiopes  of  immediate  benefit,  which  it  could  not  realize,  from  thia 
•Measure.  Neither  am  I  one  of  those  who  maintain  the  opposite  theory, 
such  as  is  well  expressed  in  a  well-known  couplet, — 

"  llow  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure  ! 

Fai  am  I  from  agreeing  in  the  opinion  which  the  poet  has  so  well 
jxprossed  in  those  lines.    They  are  very  pretty  poetrv,  but  tlvay  are 


SENATORIAL.  MACAULAY. 


237 


not  true  in  politics.    When  I  look  to  one  country  as  compared  to 
another,  at  the  diflerent  epochs  of  their  history,  I  am  forced  to  believe 
that  It  IS  upon  law  and  government  that  the  prosperity  and  morality 
the  power  and  intelligence,  of  every  Nation  depend.  When  I  compare 
fepain  (m  which  the  traveller  is  met  by  the  stiletto  in  the  streets,  and 
oy  the  carbine  in  the  high  roads)  to  England,  in  the  poorest  parts  of 
Which  the  traveller  pas^^es  without  fear,  I  think  the  difference  is 
^Jccasioned  by  the  different  G-overnments  under  which  the  People  live 
At  least,  Sir,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  end  attained  by  the  two 
ixovernments  of  these  respective  countries  is  essentially  different.  la 
it^  possible,  indeed,  for  any  intelligent  person  to  travel  through  coun- 
tries, and  not  trace  the  characters  and  conduct  of  the  inhabitaSts  to  tho 
nature  of  their  Institutions  and  Governments?    V^'hen  I  propo^^e 
therefore  a  Keform  of  Parliament,  —  when  I  propose  that  the  People 
shall  send  into  this  House  real  Representatives,  to  deliberate  on  their 
wants  and  to  consult  for  their  interests,  to  consider  their  griev- 
ances and  attend  to  their  desires,  —  when  I  propose  that  they  shall 
m  tact,  as  they  hitherto  have  been  said  to  do  in  theory,  possess  the 
vast  power  of  holding  the  purse-strings  of  the  monarch,  ~  I  do  it  under 
the  conviction  that  I  am  laying  the  foundation  of  the  greatest  improve- 
ment  in  the  comforts  and  well-being  of  the  People. 


112.    THE  ESTABLISHED  CHURCH  OF  IRELAND,  1845. -r.  B.  Macaulay. 

T?  ^urf^^i!®  institutions  now  existing  in  the  civilized  world,  the 
i^stablished  Church  of  Ireland  seems  to  me  the  most  absurd     Is  there 
anything  else  like  it  ?    Was  there  ever  anything  else  like  it?  The 
world  IS  full  of  ecclesiastical  establishments.    But  such  a  portent  as 
this  Church  of  Ireland  is  nowhere  to  be  found.    Look  round  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe.    Ecclesiastical  establishments  from  the  White  Sea 
io  the  Mediterranean;  ecclesiastical  establishments  from  the  Wolga  to 
the  Atlantic;  but  nowhere  the  church  of  a  small  minority  eniovins 
exclusive  establishment.    Look  at  America.   There  you  have  all  formi 
ot  Christianity,  from  Mormonism  —  if  you  call  Mormonism  Christianity 
—  to  Komanism.    In  some  places  you  have  the  voluntary  system  I« 
Bome  you  have  several  religions  connected  with  the  State.    In  som« 
you  have  the  solitary  ascendency  of  a  single  Church.    But  nowhere, 
from  the  Arctic  CireL  to  Cape  Horn,  do  you  find  the  Chureh  of  a 
mifih  minority  exclusively  established.    In  one  country  alone  — in 
Ire  and  alone  — is  to  be  seen  the  spectacle  of  a  community  of  eight 
millions  of  human  beings,  with  a  Chureh  which  is  the  Church  of  only 
eight  hundred  thousand !  ^ 
Two  hundred  and  eighty-five  years  has  this  Church  been  at  work. 
What  could  have  been  done  for  it  in  the  way  of  authority,  privileges 
endowments,  which  has  not  been  done  ?    Did  any  other  set  of  bishops 
and  priests  in  the  world  ever  receive  so  much  for  doing  so  little  i 
i^ay,  did  any  other  set  of  bishops  and  priests  in  the  world  ever  receive 
^  as  much  for  doing  twice  as  much  ?    And  what  have  we  to  ^how 


268 


fHE  SIANDARD  gP  iAJREll. 


for  all  this  lavish  expenditure  ?  What,  but  the  most  zealous  T^oinar, 
Catholic  populatiDn  on  the  face  of  the  earth?  On  the  great,  solid 
liiass  of  the  Roman  Catholic  population  you  have  made  no  inipression 
whatever.  There  they  are,  as  they  were  ages  a^o,  ten  to  one  against 
the  members  of  your  Established  Church.  Explain  this  to  me.  I 
speak  to  you,  the  zealous  Protestants  on  the  other  side  of  the  Houst 
Explain  this  to  me  on  Protestant  principles.  If  I  were  a  RomaD 
Catholic,  I  could  easily  account  for  the  phenomenon.  If  1  were  a 
Roman  Catholic,  I  should  content  myself  Vv^ith  saying  that  the  mighty 
hand  and  the  outstretched  arm  had  been  put  forth  according  to  tb( 
promise,  in  defence  of  the  unchangeable  Church  ;  that  He,  who,  in  the 
old  time,  turned  into  blessings  the  curses  of  Balaam,  and  smote  the 
host  of  Sennacherib,  had  signally  confounded  the  arts  and  the  power 
of  heretic  statesmen.  But  what  is  the  Protestant  to  say  ?  Is  this  a 
miracle,  that  we  should  stand  aghast  at  it  ?  Not  at  all.  It  is  a  result 
which  human  prudence  ought  to  have  long  ago  foreseen,  and  long  ago 
averted.  It  is  the  natural  succession  of  effect  to  cause.  A  Church 
exists  for  moral  ends.  A  Church  exists  to  be  loved,  to  be  reverence'! 
to  be  heard  with  docility,  to  reign  in  the  understandings  and  hearts  of 
men.  A  Church  which  is  abhorred  is  useless,  or  worse  than  useless 
and  to  quarter  a  hostile  Church  on  a  conquered  People,  as  you  would 
quarter  a  soldiery,  is,  therefore,  the  most  absurd  of  mistakes. 


113,  ON  LIMITING  THE  HOURS  OF  LABOR,  1846.  —  T.  B.  Macaulay. 

If  we  consider  man  simply  in  a  commercial  point  of  view,  simply 
as  a  machine  for  productive  labor,  let  us  not  forget  what  a  piece  of 
mechanism  he  is,  —  how  "  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made."  If  we 
have  a  fine  horse,  we  do  not  use  him  exactly  as  a  steam-engine ;  and 
still  less  should  we  treat  man  so,  more  especially  in  his  earlier  years. 
The  depressing  labor  that  begins  early  in  life,  and  is  continued  too 
long  every  day,  enfeebles  his  body,  enervates  his  mind,  weakens  his 
spirits,  overpowers  his  undei  standing,  and  is  incompatible  with  aa j 
good  or  useful  degree  of  education.  A  state  of  society  in  which  such 
a  system  prevails  will  inevitably,  and  in  no  long  space,  feel  its  baneful 
effects.  What  is  it  which  makes  one  community  prosperous  and  flour- 
ishing, more  than  another  ?  You  will  not  say  that  it  is  the  soil ;  you 
will  not  say  that  it  is  its  climate  ;  you  will  not  say  that  it  is  its  min- 
cral  wealth,  or  its  natural  advantages,  —  its  ports,  or  its  great  rivers. 
Is  it  anything  in  the  earth,  or  in  the  air,  that  makes  Scotland  a  richer 
country  than  Egypt ;  or,  Batavia,  with  its  marshes,  more  prosperous 
than  Sicily  ?  No ;  but  Scotchmen  made  Scotland  what  she  is,  and 
Dutchmen  raised  their  marshes  to  such  eminence.  Look  to  America. 
Two  centuries  ago,  it  was  a  wilderness  of  buffaloes  and  wolves.  What 
iaas  caused  the  change  ?  Is  it  her  rich  mould  ?  Is  it  her  mightj 
rivers  ?  Is  it  her  broad  waters  ?  No ;  her  plains  were  then  as  fertile 
<A  they  arc  dow,  —  h,?r  rivers  were  as  numerous.  Nor  was  it  any  greal 


SENATORIAI  —  MACAULAY. 


269 


imouut  of  capital  that  the  emigrants  carried  out  with  them.  Thev 
took  a  mere  pittance,  -  What  is  it,  then,  that  has  effected  the  change"? 
h^s  simply  this,  —  you  placed  the  Englishman,  instead  of  the  red 
man,  upon  the  soil ,  and  the  Englishman,  intelligent  and  energetic,  cut 
down  the  forests,  turned  them  into  cities  and  fleets,  and  covered  the 
land  with  harvests  and  orchards  in  their  place. 

I  am  convinced.  Sir,  that  this  question  of  limiting  the  hours  of  labor, 
being  a  question  connected,  for  the  most  part,  with  persons  of  tender 
years,  — a  question  in  which  public  health  is  concerned,  and  a  question 
relating  to  public  morality,  —  it  is  one  with  which  the  State  may  prop- 
erly  interfere.  Sir,  as  lawgivers,  we  have  errors  of  two  different  kinda 
to  repair.  We  have  done  that  which  we  ought  not  to  have  done  ;  we 
have  left  undone  that  which  we  ought  to  have  done.  We  have  regu- 
lated that  which  we  ought  to  have  left  to  regulate  itself;  we  have  left 
unregulated  that  which  it  was  our  especial  business  to  have  regulated. 
We  have  given  to  certain  branches  of  industry  a  protection  which  was 
their  bane.  We  have  withheld  from  public  health,  and  from  public 
morality,  a  protection  which  it  was  our  duty  to  have  given.  We  have 
prevented  the  laborer  from  getting  his  loaf  where  he  could  get  it 
cheapest,  but  we  have  not  prevented  him  from  prematurely  destroying 
the  health  of  his  body  and  mind,  by  inordinate  toil.  I  hope  and 
believe  that  we  are  approaching  the  end  of  a  vicious  system  of  inter- 
ference,  and  of  a  vicious  system  of  non-interference. 


114.  REFORM,  THAT  YOU  MAY  PRESERVE,  Makch  2,  1831. -T.  B.  Macaulay. 

^  Turn  where  we  may,  —  within,  around,  —  the  voice  of  great  events 
i«  proclaiming  to  us,  "  Eeform.,  that  you  may  preserve  !  "  Now,  there- 
fore,  while  everything  at  home  and  abroad  forebodes  ruin  to  those  who 
persist  in  a  hopeless  struggle  against  the  spirit  of  the  age  ;  now,  while 
the  crash  of  the  proudest  Throne  of  the  Continent  is  still  resounding 
m  our  ears  ;  now,  while  the  roof  of  a  British  palace  affords  an  igno- 
minious  shelter  to  the  exiled  heir  of  forty  Kings  ;*  now,  while  we  see 
on  every  side  ancient  institutions  subverted,  and  great  societies  dih- 
solved ;  now,  while  the  heart  of  England  is  still  sound ;  now,  while 
the  old  feelings  and  the  old  associations  retain  a  power  and  a  charm 
which  may  too  soon  pass  away ;  now,  in  this  your  accepted  time,  — 
now,  m  this  your  day  of  salvation,  —  take  counsel,  not  of  prejudice,  not 
of  party  spirit,  not  of  the  ignominious  pride  of  a  fatal  consistency,  but 
of  history,  of  reason,  of  the  ages  which  are  past,  of  the  signs  of  this 
most  portentous  time.    Pronounce  in  a  manner  worthy  of  the  expect- 
ation  with  which  this  great  debate  has  been  anticipated,  and  of  the 
long  remembrance  which  it  will  leave  behind.    Renew  the  youth  of 
the  State.    Save  property,  divided  against  itself.   Save  the  multitude 
endajigered  by  their  own  ungovernable  passions.   Save  the  aristocracy 
pQdangcred  by  its  own  unpopular  power.    Save  the  greatest,  and  fair 


*  Charles  the  Tenth,  of  France. 


270 


THE  STAND AKD  SIAaKER. 


est,  u:A  most  highly  civilized  community  that  ever  existed,  from  calam 
Lties  which  may  in  a  few  days  sweep  away  all  the  rich  heritage  of  sc 
many  ages  of  wisdom  and  glory.  The  danger  is  terrible.  The  time 
is  short.  If  this  bill  should  be  rejected,  I  pray  to  God  that  none  of 
those  who  concur  in  rejecting  it  may  ever  remember  their  votes  with 
anayailing  regret,  amidst  the  wreck  of  laws,  the  confusion  of  ranks, 
the  spoliation  of  property,  and  the  dissolution  of  social  order. 


115.  MEN  ALWAYS  FIT  FOR  FREEDOM.  -  T.  B.  Macaulay. 

There  is  only  one  cure  for  the  evils  which  newly-acquirod  freedoir 
produces,  —  and  that  cure  is  freedom  !  When  a  prisoner  leaves  his 
cell,  he  cannot  bear  the  light  of  day  ;  he  is  unable  to  discriminate 
colors,  or  recognize  faces ;  but  the  remedy  is  not  to  rem.and  him  into 
his  dungeon,  but  to  accustom  him  to  the  rays  of  .the  sun.  The  blaze 
of  truth  and  liberty  may  at  first  dazzle  and  bewilder  Nations  which 
have  become  half  blind  in  the  house  of  bondage ;  but  let  them  gaze  on 
and  they  will  soon  be  able  to  bear  it.  In  a  few  years  men  learn  tc 
reason  ;  the  extreme  violence  of  opinion  subsides  ;  hostile  theories  cor 
rect  each  other  ;  the  scattered  elements  of  truth  cease  to  conflict,  and 
begin  to  coalesce ;  and,  at  length,  a  system  of  justice  and  order  is 
educed  out  of  the  chaos.  Many  politicians  of  our  time  are  in  the 
ha,bit  of  laying  it  down  as  a  self-evident  proposition,  that  no  People 
ought  to  be  free  till  they  are  fit  to  use  their  freedom.  The  maxim  is 
worthy  of  the  fool  in  the  old  story,  who  resolved  not  to  go  into  the 
water  till  he  had  learned  to  swim  !  If  men  are  to  wait  for  liberty  till 
they  become  wise  and  good  in  slavery  thpj  may,  indeed,  wait  forever ' 


116.  THE  REFORM  BILL  A  SECOND  BILL  OF  RIGHTS,  July  5,  1831.  — W. 

The  whole  of  history  shows  that  all  great  Revolutions  have  been 
produced  by  a  disproportion  between  society  and  its  institutions  ;  for, 
while  society  has  grown,  its  institutions  have  not  kept  pace,  and  accom- 
modated themselves  to  its  improvements.  The  history  of  England  is 
the  history  of  a  succession  of  Reforms  ;  and  the  very  reason  that  the 
People  of  England  are  great  and  happy  is,  that  their  history  is  thft 
history  of  Reform.  The  great  Charter,  the  first  assembling  of  Par- 
liament, the  Petition  of  Right,  the  Revolution,  and,  lastly,  this  groat 
measure,  arc  all  proofs  of  my  position,  —  are  all  progressive  stages  in 
the  progress  of  society,  —  and  I  am  fully  convinced  that  every  argu- 
ment urged  against  the  step  we  are  now  called  upon  to  take  might  have 
-jccn  advanced  with  equal  justice  against  any  of  the  other  changes  I 
have  enumerated.  At  the  present  moment  we  everywhere  see  societal 
outgrowing  our  institutions.  Let  us  contrast  our  commerce  wealth, 
irid  perfect  civilization,  with  our  Penal  Laws,  at  once  barbarous  and 
(nefficitnt.  —the  preposterous  fictions  of  pleading,  the  mummery  of 


TiENATORIAL,  MACAULA\. 


271 


fines^  and  r.ecoveries,  the  chaos  of  precedents,  and  the  bottomless  pi< 
of  Chancery.  Here  we  see  the  barbarism  of  the  thirteenth  century 
coupled  with  the  civilization  of  the  nineteenth  ;  and  we  see,  too,  that 
the  barbarism  belongs  to  the  Government,  and  the  civilization  to  the 
People.  Then  I  say  that  this  incongruous  state  of  things  cannot  con. 
tinue  ;  and,  if  we  do  not  terminate  it  with  wisdom,  ere  long  we  shall 
find  it  ended  with  violence. 

I  fear,  that  it  may  be  deemed  unbecoming  in  me  to  make  any  appli. 
cation  to  the  fears  of  Members  of  this  House.  But  surely  I  may- 
without  reproach,  address  myself  to  their  honest  fears.  It  is  we]l  tc 
talk  of  opposing  a  firm  front  to  sedition.  But  woe  to  the  Government 
that  cannot  distinguish  between  a  Nation  and  a  mob!  woe  to  the 
Government  that  thinks  a  great  and  steady  movement  of  mind  is  to 
be  put  down  like  a  riot !  This  error  has  been  twice  fatal  to  the  Bour- 
bons :  it  may  be  fatal  to  the  Legislature  of  this  country,  if  they  should 
venture  to  foster  it.  I  do  believe  that  the  irrevocable  moment  has 
arrived.  Nothing  can  prevent  the  passing  of  this  noble  law,  —  this 
second  Bill  of  Rights.  I  do  call  it  the  second  Bill  of  Bights;  and  so 
will  the  country  call  it,  and  so  will  our  children.  I  call  it  a  greater 
charter  of  the  liberties  of  England.  Eighteen  hundred  and  thirty- 
one  is  destined  to  exhibit  the  first  example  of  an  established,  of  a 
deep-rooted  system,  removed  without  bloodshed,  or  violence,  or  rapine, 
—  all  points  being  debated,  every  punctilio  observed,  the  peaceful 
industry  of  the  country  never  for  a  moment  checked  or  compromised 
And  the  authority  of  the  law  not  for  one  instant  suspended. 


117.  PUBLIC  OPINION  AND  THE  SWORD,  Oct.  10,  1831.— B.  Macaulay 

At  the  present  moment  I  can  see  only  one  question  in  the  State, 
the  Question  of  Reform  ;  only  two  parties  —  the  friends  of  the  Bill,  and 
its  enemies.  No  observant  and  unprejudiced  man  can  look  forward, 
without  great  alarm,  to  the  efiects  which  the  recent  decision  of  the 
Lords  may  possibly  produce.  I  do  not  predict,  I  do  not  expect, 
open,  armed  insurrection.  What  I  apprehend  is  this  —  that  the  People 
may  engage  in  a  silent  but  extensive  and  persevering  war  against  the 
law.  It  is  easy  to  say,  "  Be  bold ;  be  firm ;  defy  intimidation ;  let 
.he  law  have  its  course ;  the  law  is  strong  enough  to  put  down  the 
seditious."  Sir,  we  have  heard  this  blustering  before ;  and  we  know 
in  what  it  ended.  It  is  the  blustering  of  little  men,  whose  lot  has 
fallen^  on  a  great  crisis.  Xerxes  scourging  the  waves,  Canute  com- 
manding the  waves  to  recede  from  his  footstool,  were  but  types  of  the 
Felly.  The  law  has  no  eyes  ;  the  law  has  no  hands  ;  the  law  is  noth- 
ing--nothing  but  a  piece  of  paper  printed  by  the  King's  printer,  with 
the  King's  arm.s  at  the  top  —  till  public  opinion  breathes  the  breath  o^ 
;ife  into  the  dead  letter.  We  found  this  in  Ireland.  The  elections  of 
1820  — the  Clare  election,  two  years  later  — proved  the  folly  of  those 
«rho  thmk  that  Nations  are  governed  by  wax  and  parchment ;  and,  a» 


272 


THE  STAND  ARL  SPEAKER. 


length,  in  tbe  close  of  1828,  the  Government  had  only  one  plain  alief 
native  before  it  —  concession  or  civil  war. 

I  know  only  two  ways  in  which  societies  can  permanently  be  gov« 
erned  —  by  Public  Opinion,  and  by  the  Sword.  A  Government  having 
at  its  command  the  armies,  the  fleets,  and  the  revenues  of  Great  Brit 
ain,  might  possibly  hold  Ireland  by  the  Sword.  So  Oliver  Cromwell 
held  Ireland  ;  so  William  the  Third  held  it ;  so  Mr.  Pitt  held  it ; 
the  Duke  of  T^ellington  might,  perhaps,  have  held  it.  But,  to  govern 
Great  Britain  by  the  Sword  —  so  wild  a  thought  has  never,  I  will  ven. 
ture  to  say,  occurred  to  any  public  man  of  any  party ;  and,  if  any  man 
were  frantic  enough  to  make  the  attempt,  he  would  find,  before  three 
days  had  expired  that  there  is  no  better  Sword  than  that  which  is 
fashioned  out  of  a  Ploughshare  !  But,  if  not  by  the  Sword,  how  is  the 
people  to  be  governed  ?  I  understand  how  the  peace  is  kept  at  New 
York.  It  is  by  the  assent  and  support  of  the  People.  I  understand, 
also,  how  the  peace  is  kept  at  Milan.  It  is  by  the  bayonets  of  the 
Austrian  soldiers.  But  how  the  peace  is  to  be  kept  when  you  have 
neither  the  popular  assent  nor  the  military  force,  —  how  the  peace  is 
to  be  k  spt  in  England  by  a  Government  acting  on  the  principles  of  the 
present  Opposition,  —  I  do  not  understand. 

Sir,  we  read  that,  in  old  times,  when  the  villeins  *  were  driven  to 
revolt  by  oppression,  —  when  the  castles  of  the  nobility  were  burned  to 
the  ground,  —  when  the  warehouses  of  London  were  pillaged,  —  when 
a  hundred  thousand  insurgents  appeared  in  arms  on  Blackheath, 
when  a  foul  murder,  perpetrated  in  their  presence,  had  raised  their 
passions  to  madness,  —  when  they  were  looking  round  for  some  Cap- 
tain  to  succeed  and  avenge  him  whom  they  had  lost,  —  just  then,  before 
Hob  Miller,  or  Tom  Carter,  or  Jack  Straw,  could  place  himself  at  their 
head,  the  King  rode  up  to  them,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  will  be  you. 
leader  !  " —  And,  at  once,  the  infuriated  multitude  laid  down  their 
arms,  submitted  to  his  guidance,  dispersed  at  his  command.  Herein 
let  us  imitate  him.  Let  us  say  to  the  People,  "We  are  your  lead- 
ers,  —  we,  your  own  House  of  Commons."  This  tone  it  is  our  interest 
and  our  duty  to  take.  The  circumstances  admit  of  no  delay.  Even 
while  I  speak,  the  moments  are  passing  away,  —  the  irrevocable 
moments,  pregnant  with  the  destiny  of  a  great  People.  The  country  ia 
in  danger  ;  it  may  be  saved :  we  can  save  it.  This  is  the  way  —  thia 
is  the  time.  In  our  hands  are  the  issues  of  great  good  and  great  evi^ 
—  the  issues  of  the  life  and  death  of  the  State ! 


118    A  GOVERNMENT  SHOULD  GROW  WITH  THE  PEOPLE  Dec.  16,  1831.—  Id. 

It  is  a  principle  never  to  be  forgotten,  that  it  is  not  by  absolute,  bul 
by  relative  raisgovernment,  that  Nations  are  roused  to  madness.  Look 
at  our  own  history.    The  liberties  of  the  English  people  were,  at  least, 

♦  A  word  derived  from  the  Latin  villa  ;  whence  villam,  country  people.  The  nam* 
«ra«  given,  in  Anglo-Norman  times,  to  persons  not  proprietors  of  land,  m-'j\y  o> 
vhcm  wero  attached  to  the  land,  and  bound  to  eerve  the  lord  of  the  manor 


SENATORIAL.  —  JMACAULAT. 


278 


16  much  rebpected  by  Charles  the  First  as  bj  Henry  the  Eighth  —by 
James  the  Second,  as  by  Edward  the  Sixth.    But  did  th?s  save  the 
3rcwn  of  James  the  Second?    Did  this  save  the  head  of  Charles  tno 
First  ?    Every  person  who  knows  the  history  of  our  civil  dissensiona 
knows  that  all  those  arguments  which  are  now  employed  by  the  oppo- 
nente  of  the  Keform  Bill  might  have  been  employed,  and  were  actuaUy 
employed,  by  the  unfortunate  Stuarts.    The  reasoning  of  Charles  and 
of  all  his  apologists,  runs  thus:  "  What  new  grievance  does  theNLtioa 
suher  ?    Did  the  People  ever  enjoy  more  freedom  than  at  presents 
Did  they  ever  enjoy  so  much  freedom  ?  "    But  what  would  a  wise  and 
honest  counsellor  have  replied  ?    He  would  have  said :  "  Thouo-h  there 
has  been  no  change  in  the  Government  for  the  worse,  there  has  been  a 
change  m  the  public  mind,  which  produces  exactly  the  same  eflPect 
which  would  be  produced  by  a  change  in  the  Government  for  the  worse, 
it  may  be  that  the  submissive  loyalty  of  our  fathers  was  preferable  to 
that  inquiring,  censuring,  resisting  spirit  which  is  now  abroad.  And 
so  it  may  be  that  infancy  is  a  happier  time  than  manhood,  and  manhood 
tnan  old  age.    But  God  has  decreed  that  old  age  shall  succeed  to  man- 
nood,  and  manhood  to  infancy.    Even  so  have  ^jcieties  their  law  of 
growth.     As  their  strength  becomes  greater,  as  their  experience 
Decomes  more  extensive,  you  can  no  longer  confine  them  within  the 
swaddling-bands,  or  lull  them  in  the  cradles,  or  amuse  them  with  the 
rattles,  or  terrify  them  with  the  bugbears,  of  their  infancy.    I  do  not 
say  that  they  are  better  or  happier  than  they  were  ;  but  this  I  say  — 
they  are  different  from  what  they  were  ;  you  cannot  again  make  them 
what  they  were,  and  you  cannot  safely  treat  them  as  if  they  continued 
to  be  what  they  were." 
^  This  was  the  advice  which  a  wise  and  honest  Minister  would  have 
given  to  Charles  the  First.    These  were  the  principles  on  which  that 
unhappy  prmce  should  have  acted.    But  no.    He  would  govern,  I 
do  not  say  ill  —  I  do  not  say  tyrannically  ;  I  say  only  this,  —  he  would 
govern  the  men  of  the  seventeenth  century  as  if  they  had  been  th,3 
men  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and  therefore  it  was  that  all  his  talents, 
and  all  his  virtues,  did  not  save  him  from  unpopularity  —  from  civil 
war  —  from  a  prison  —  from  a  bar —  from  a  scaffold ! 


119.  REFORM  IRRESISTIBLE.  _  T.  B.  Macaulay.    Dec.  16, 1831. 

Sir,  I  have,  from  the  beginning  of  these  discussiocs,  supported 
llet<>rni^  on  two  grounds :  first,  because  I  believe  it  to  be  in  itself  a 
good  thing;  and,  secondly,  because  I  think  the  dangers  of  withholding 
It  to  be  so  great,  that,  even  if  it  were  an  evil,  it  would  be  the  less  of 
two  evils.  I  shall  not  relinquish  the  hope  that  this  great  contest  may 
oe  conducted,  by  lawful  means,  to  a  happy  termination.  But,  of  this 
I  am  assured,  that,  by  means  lawful  or  unlawful,  to  a  termination, 
happy  cr  unhappy,  this  contest  must  speedily  come.  All  that  I  know 
-sf  the  history  of  past  times,  aJl  the  observations  that  I  have  been 
18 


274 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Me  to  mako  m  the  present  state  of  the  country,  have  con^in-jed  mc 
thpi  the  time  has  arrived  when  a  great  concession  must  be  made  to 
the  Democracy  of  England ;  that  the  question,  whether  the  change  be 
in  itsolf  good  or  bad,  has  become  a  question  of  secondary  importance : 
.hat,  good  or  bad,  the  thing  must  be  done    that  a  law  as  strong  a« 
the  laws  of  attraction  and  motion  has  decreed  it.    I  well  know  that 
history,  when  we  look  at  it  in  small  portions,  may  be  so  construed  aj 
to  mean  anything ;  that  it  may  be  interpreted  in  as  many  ways  as  a 
Delphic  oracle.    "  The  French  Revolution,"  says  one  expositor,  "  waa 
the  effect  of  concession."     "  Not  so,"  cries  another ;  "  the  French 
Revolution  was  produced  by  the  obstinacy  of  an  arbitrary  Govern 
ment."    These  controversies  can  never  be  brought  to  any  decisive  test, 
or  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion.     But,  as  I  beJieve  that  history, 
when  we  look  at  it  in  small  fragments,  proves  anything  or  nothing,  so 
I  believe  that  it  is  full  of  useful  and  precious  instruction  when  we 
contemplate  it  in  large  portions,  —  when  we  take  in,  at  one  view,  the 
whole  life-time  of  great  societies.    We  have  heard  it  said  a  hundrea 
times,  during  these  discussions,  that  the  People  of  England  are  more 
free  than  ever  they  were    that  the  Government  is  more  Democratic 
than  ever  it  was ;  and  this  is  urged  as  an  argument  against  Reform. 
I  admit  the  fact,  but  I  deny  the  inference.    The  history  of  England 
is  the  history  of  a  Government  constantly  giving  way,  —  sometimes 
peaceably,  sometimes  after  a  violent  struggle,  —  but  constantly  giving 
way  before  a  Nation  which  has  been  constantly  advancing.    It  is  not 
Bufficient  to  look  merely  at  the  form  of  Government.    We  must  look 
to  the  state  of  the  public  mind.    The  worst  tyrant  that  ever  had  his 
neck  wrung  in  modern  Europe  might  have  passed  for  a  paragon  in 
Persia  or  Slorocco.  Our  Indian  subjects  submit  patiently  to  a  monop. 
oly  of  salt.   We  tried  a  stamp-duty  —  a  duty  so  light  as  to  be  scarcely 
perceptible  —  on  the  fierce  breed  of  the  old  Puritans :  and  we  lost  an 
Empire  !    The  Government  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth  was  certainly  a 
much  better  and  milder  Government  than  that  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth :  yet  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  admired,  and  even  loved,  by  his 
People  ;  Louis  the  Sixteenth  died  on  the  scaffold  !    Why  ?  Because, 
though  the  Government  had  made  many  steps  in  the  career  of  improve- 
ment-, it  had  not  advanced  so  rapidly  as  the  Nation. 

These  things  are  written  for  our  instruction.  There  is  a  change  ia 
Bociety.  There  must  be  a  corresponding  change  in  the  Government. 
You  may  make  the  change  tedious ;  you  may  make  it  violent ;  yoa 
jiay  ~  God,  in  his  mercy,  forbid !  —  you  may  make  it  bloody ;  but  ave'^ 
It  you  cannot.  Agitations  of  the  public  mind,  so  deep  and  so  long  con 
tinued  a«  those  which  we  have  witnessed,  do  not  end  in  nothing.  In 
oeace,  oi  in  convulsion,  —  by  the  law,  or  in  spite  of  the  law,  —  through 
f,he  Parliament,  or  over  the  Parliament,  —  Reform  must  be  carried 
Therefore,  be  content  to  guide  that  movement  which  you  cannot  stop. 
Pliug  wide  the  gates  to  that  force  which  else  will  enter  through  the 
ereach 


SENATORIAL.  OROKEH.  276 


12C   REPLY  TO  THE  FOREGOING,  Dec.  16,  1831.  -John  W ..kon  Crcker 

^  Has  the  learned  gentleman,  who  has  been  so  eloquent  on  the  neces. 
Bity  of  proceeding  forward,  —  whc  has  told  the  House  that  argument  is 
vam;  that  there  is  no  resisting  the  mighty  torrent    that  there  is 
dire  necessity  for  the  whole  measure,  — has  he  given  the  slightest 
intimation  of  what  would  be,  even  in  his  opinion,  the  end  of  the 
career,  the  result  of  the  experiment,  the  issue  of  the  danger?  Hai 
he  seanrxed  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher  the  probable  progress  of 
future  events?    Not  at  all.    Anything  more  vague,  anything  more 
mdelimte,  anything  more  purely  declamatory,  than  the  statements  of 
the  learned  gentleman  on  that  point,  has  never  fallen  from  human  lips 
It  IS  true  that  the  learned  gentleman  has  told  the  House  that  the  town 
is  besieged  by  superior  forces,  and  has  advised  them  to  open  the  gates 
ot  the  tortress,  lest  it  should  be  stormed  at  the  breach.    But  did  he 
tell  them  that  they  could  open  the  gates  with  safety  ?  —  without  expos- 
ing their  property  to  plunder,  and  their  persons  to  massacre  ?  They 
were  not,  under  the  learned  gentleman's  advice,  to  attempt  to  make 
any  terms;  but  they  were  at  once  to  throw  open  the  gates,  and  await 
the  consequences,  however  fatal;  and  submit  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  victors,  even  though  there  should  be  pillage,  bloodshed  and  exter- 
mination. 

The  present  state  of  the  ream  is  unparalleled  in  history.  The  dan- 
ger  to  which  the  Government  is  exposed  is  greater  than  the  Ministers 
themselves  have  ever  imagined.  As  the  progress  of  agitation  may  be 
tracked  through  fire  and  blood,  the  pusillanimity  of  Ministers  can  be 
also  traced  through  every  act  of  their  administration,  even  those  that 
seemed  the  boldest.  There  is  no  word  that  they  say,  no  act  that  they 
do,  no  act  that  they  abstain  from  doing,  that  is  not  carefully  calculated 
to  ottend  as  little  as  possible,  when  they  cannot  altogether  conciliate, 
the  .Pohtical  Unions  and  similar  illegal  and  anarchical  associations. 
MimsteiE  have  raised  a  storm  which  it  is  beyond  their  power,  beyond 
the  scope  of  their  minds,  to  allay.  In  conclusion,  I  can  assure  the 
Mouse  that,  in  the  censures  I  have  passed  on  His  Majesty's  Ministers, 
and  in  the  appalling  prospects  I  have  laid  before  the  House,  I  have 
urged  nothing  but  what  springs  from  the  most  imperious  sense  of  the 
danger  of  the  country ;  a  danger  for  which  I  confess  that  I  do  not  see 
a  remedy,  although  convinced  that  there  are  no  means  so  calculated 
to  aggravate  it  to  a  tremendous  extent  as  passing  a  Reform  Bill. 

121.  PERIL3  OP  PARLIAMENTARY  REFORM,  ITurch  4,  im.-John  Wilsan  Croket. 

Sir  what  is  to  be  gained  by  this  change  in  the  Representation? 
Are  we  to  throw  away  admitted  and  substantial  benefits,  in  the  pursuit 
Dt  an  undefined,  inexplicable,  and,  to  my  view,  most  perilous  fantasy' 
bir,  the  learned  Lord,  after  exhausting  his  eloquence  in  the  praise  of 
the  general  prospects  of  the  country,  turned  short  round  on  us,  and 
Irew  a  frightful  and  metaphorical  picture  of  the  present  state  of  th« 


276 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


-Ountry,  a^i  the  appalling  consequences  of  refusing  the  confjJjssiooA 
which  the  existing  clamor  demands.  He  told  you,  Sir,  that  the  stonnj 
tides  of  popular  commotion  were  rising  rapidly  around  ui ;  that  th<\ 
Stygian  waters  were  rapidly  gaining  upon  us,  and  that  it  was  time  for 
us  —  and  barely  time  —  to  endeavor  to  save  ourselves  from  being 
«»wallowed  up  by  the  devouring  waves.  He  told  you  that  the  deluge 
of  public  opinion  was  about  to  overwhelm  you ;  and  he  invited  you  to 
embark  with  him  on  this  frail  and  crazy  raft,  constructed  in  the  blun- 
dering haste  of  terror,  as  the  only  means  of  escaping  from  destmction. 
No  Sir,  no  !  trust  not 

«« that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 
Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark!  " 

No,  Sir !  stand  firm  where  you  are,  and  wait  until  the  threatening 
waters  suteide.  What  you  hear  is  not  only  a  fictitious,  but  a  factitious 
clamor.  Be  you  calm,  steady  and  bold ;  and  the  People,  under  the 
influence  of  your  wisdom  and  courage,  will  recover  their  wonted  judg- 
ment, and  become  sensible  of  the  value  of  what  they  would  lose  by 
this  scheme,  and  of  the  uselessness  of  what  they  might  gain.  Of  the 
Constitution  of  this  country  there  might,  perhaps,  have  been  a  better 
theoretical  arrangement;  but  I  do,  in  my  heart,  firmly. believe  that 
no  human  ingenuity  could,  a  priori,  have  conceived  so  admirable  a 
practical  system,  promoting,  in  such  nice  and  just  degrees,  the  wealth, 
'lappiness  and  liberties,  of  the  community  at  large,  — 

"  Where  jarring  interests,  reconciled,  create 
The  according  music  of  a  well-mixed  State ; 
Where  small  and  great,  where  weak  and  strong,  are  made 
To  serve,  not  suffer,  —  strengthen,  not  invade ; 
More  powerful  each,  as  needful  to  the  rest, 
And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  blest!  " 


122.   EXTENSION  OF  THE  TERM  OF  COPYRIGHT,  1838.  —  T.  N.  Talfourd. 

There  is  something,  Sir,  peculiarly  unjust  in  bounding  the  term  of 
an  author's  property  by  his  natural  life,  if  he  should  survive  so  short 
%  period  as  twenty-eight  years.  It  denies  to  age  and  experience  the 
probable  reward  it  permits  to  youth  —  to  youth,  sufficiently  full  of 
hope  and  joy  to  slight  its  promises.  It  gives  a  bounty  to  haste,  and 
informs  the  laborious  student,  who  would  wear  away  his  strength  to 
complete  some  work  which  "  the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die,'' 
that  the  more  of  his  life  he  devotes  to  its  perfection,  the  more  limited 
Bhall  be  his  interest  in  its  fruits.  When  his  works  assume  their  place 
among  the  classics  of  his  country,  your  law  declares  that  those  work« 
shall  become  your  property ;  and  you  requite  him  by  seizing  the  patri- 
raony  of  his  children  ! 

In  the  words  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  petition,  "  This  bill  has  for  its 
main  object  to  relieve  men  of  letters  from  the  thraldom  of  be^'ng 
forced  to  court  the  living  generation  to  aid  them  in  rising  above 
lavish  taste  and  degraded  prejudice,  and  to  encourage  them  to  rely  Oh 
their  own  impulses."    Surely  this  is  an  object  worthy  of  tMe  Tiegislac 


SENATORIAL.  —  TALFOURD.  277 

are  of  a  gi-eat  People,  especially  in  an  age  where  restless  activity 
^nd  increasmg  knowledge  present  temptations  to  the  slight  and  the 
^  superficial  which  do  not  exist  in  a  ruder  ag6.  Let  those  who  '  tc 
begmle  the  time  look  like  the  time  "  have  their  fair  scope,  -~  let  chean 
J-ud  innocent  publications  be  multiplied  as  much  as  you  please  —  still 
the  character  of  the  age  demands  something  impressed  with 'a  noblei 
labor  and  directed  to  a  higher  aim.  "  The  mimortal  mind  craveg 
objects  tnat  endure."  The  printers  need  not  fear.  There  will  not  ba 
too  many  candidates  for  "a  bright  reversion,"  which  only  falls  in 
when  tlie  ear  shall  be  deaf  to  human  praise. 

I  have  been  accused  of  asking  you  to  legislate  "on  some  sort  of 
Bentimental  feeling."  I  deny  the  charge.  The  living  truth  is  with 
us.  I  .le  spectral  phantoms  of  depopulated  printing-houses  and  shops 
are  the  baseless  fancies  of  our  opponents.  If  I  were  here  beseeching 
indulgence  for  the  frailties  and  excesses  which  sometimes  attend  fine 
?  .^.""^  ^^^^  appealing  to  your  sympathy  in  behalf  of 

crushed  hopes  and  irregular  aspirations,  -  the  accusation  would  be  iust. 
1  plead  not  for- the  erratic,  but  for  the  sage ;  not  for  the  perishing  but 
for  the  eternal:  for  him  who,  poet,  philosopher  or  historian,  girds 
himself  for  some  toil  lasting  a^  life,  kys  a^ide  all  frivolous  pursuits 
tor  one  virtuous  purpose,  that,  when  encouraged  by  the  distant  hor^e 
ot  that  *  ALL-HAIL  HEREAFTER  "  which  shall  wclcome  him  among  the 
heirs  of  fame,  he  may  not  shudder  to  think  of  it  as  sounding  with 
hollow  mockery  in  the  ears  of  those  whom  he  loves,  and  waking  sullen 
echoes  by  the  side  of  a  cheerless  hearth  !  For  such  I  ask  this  boon 
and  througn  them  for  mankind;  — and  I  ask  it  with  the  confidence 
m  the  expression  of  which  your  veteran  petitioner,  Wordsworth! 
closed  his  appeal  to  you,  "That  in  this,  as  in  all  other  cases,  justice 
is  capable  of  working  out  its  own  expediency." 


123.  REALITY  OF  LITERARY  PROPERTY,  1838.  —  id. 

It  is,  indeed,  time  that  literature  should  experience  some  of  the 
blessings  of  legislation  If  we  should  now  simply  repeal  all  the 
statutes  which  have_  been  passed  under  the  guise  of  encouraging 
learmng,  and  leave  it  to  be  protected  only  by  the  principle,  of  the 
common  law,  and  the  remedies  which  the  common  law  would  supply 
£  believe  the  rehef  would  be  welcome.  It  did  not  occur  to  our 
ancestors  that  the  right  of  deriving  solid  benefits  from  that  which 
springs  solely  from  within  us,  — the  right  of  property  in  that  which 
the  mmd  itsexf  creates,  and  which,  so  far  from  exhausting  the  mat«. 
rials  common  to  all  men,  or  limiting  their  resources,  enriches  and 
expands  them,  -  a  right  of  property  which,  by  the  happy  peculiarity 
of  Its  nature,  can  only  be  enjoyed  by  the  proprietor  in  proportion 
it  blesses  mankind,  should  be  exempted  from  the  protection  which 
IS  extended  to  the  ancient  appropriation  of  the  soil,  and  the  rewardi 
*»  aommerc/al  enterprise. 


278 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


"  Bui,"  say  tLe  opponents  of  this  measure,  "  we  tL-inK.  that,  frciii 
the  moment  an  author  puts  his  thoughts  on  paper,  and  delivers  thm 
to  the  world,  his  property  therein  wholly  ceases."  What !  has  he 
invested  no  capita.  ?  embarked  no  fortune  ?  If  human  life  is  nothing 
id  your  commercial  tables,  —  if  the  sacrifice  of  profession,  of  health 
of  gain,  is  nothing,  —  surely  the  mere  outlay  of  him  who  has  perilled 
his  fortune  to  instruct  mankind  may  claim  some  regard  !  Or  is  the 
interest  itself  so  refined,  so  ethereal,  that  you  cannot  regard  it  as 
property,  because  it  is  not  palpable  to  sense  as  to  feeling  ?  Is  there 
any  justice  in  this  ?  If  so,  why  do  you  protect  moral  character  aa 
a  man's  most  precious  possession,  and  compensate  the  party  who 
suficrs  unjustly  in  that  character  by  damages  ?  Has  this  possession 
^ny  existence  half  so  palpable  as  the  author's  right  in  the  printed 
creation  of  his  brain  ?  I  have  always  thought  it  one  of  the  proudest 
triumphs  of  human  law,  that  it  is  able  to  recognize  and  to  guard  this 
breath  and  finer  spirit  of  moral  action ;  that  it  can  lend  its  aid  in 
sheltering  that  invisible  property,  which  exists  solely  in  the  admira* 
tion  and  alfection  of  others ;  and,  if  it  may  do  this,  why  may  it  not 
protect  his  interest  in  those  living  words,  which,  as  was  well  observed 
by  that  great  thinker,  Mr.  Hazlitt,  are,  "  after  all,  the  only  things 
which  last  forever  "  ? 


124.  AN  INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT.  — W. 

In  venturing  to  invite  the  attention  of  the  House  to  the  state  of 
the  law  afiecting  the  property  of  men  of  letters  in  the  results  of 
their  genius  and  labors,  I  would  advert  to  one  other  consideration  aa 
connected  with  this  subject.  I  would  urge  the  expediency  and 
justice  of  acknowledging  the  rights  of  foreigners  to  copyright  in  this 
country,  and  of  claiming  it  from  them  for  ourselves  in  return.  The 
great  minds  of  our  time  have  an  audience  to  impress  far  vaster  than 
it  entered  into  the  minds  of  their  predecessors  to  hope  for;  an 
audience  increasing  as  population  thickens  in  the  cities  of  America, 
and  spreads  itself  out  through  its  diminishing  wilds ;  an  audience 
who  speak  our  language,  and  who  look  on  our  old  poets  as  their  own 
immortal  ancestry. 

And  if  this,  our  literature,  shall  be  theirs,  —  if  its  difiusion  shall 
follow  the  efforts  of  the  stout  heart  and  sturdy  arm,  in  their  triumph 
©ver  the  obstacles  of  nature,  —  if  the  woods,  stretching  beyond  their 
confines,  shall  be  haunted  with  visions  of  beauty  which  our  poets 
have  created,  —  let  those  who  thus  are  softening  the  ruggedness  ot 
young  society  have  some  present  interest  about  which  afiection  may 
gather ;  and,  at  least,  let  them  be  protected  from  those  who  would 
exhibit  them,  mangled  or  corrupted,  to  their  transatlantic  disciples. 
T.  do  not,  in  truth,  ask  for  literature  favor;  I  do  not  ask  for  it 
charity.  I  do  not  even  appeal  to  gratitude  in  its  bchaif  But  I  ask 
for  it  a  portion,  and  but  a  portion,  of  that  commor  justice  which  th* 


SENATORIAL.    -  PBifti.. 


coarsest  industry  obtains  for  its  natural  reward ;  justice,  whicQ 
Qothing  but  the  very  extent  of  its  claims,  and  the  nobleness  of  thft 
associations  to  which  they  are  akin,  have  prevented  it  from  receiving 
from  our  laws. 


126.  THE  LEGISLATIVE  UNION,  UU.  — Sir  Robert  Peet.    Born,  1188;  died,  I8b0. 

I  WANT  no  array  of  figures,  I  want  no  official  documents,  I  want  m 
speeches  of  six  hours,  to  establish  to  my  satisfaction  the  public  policy 
of  maintaining  the  Legislative  Union.  I  feel  and  know  that  the  repea^ 
of  it  must  lead  to  the  dismemberment  of  this  great  empire,  must  make 
Great  Britain  a  fourth-rate  power  of  Europe,  and  Ireland  a  savago 
wilderness  ;  and  I  will  give,  therefore,  at  once,  and  without  hesitation, 
an  emphatic  negative  to  the  motion  for  repeal.  There  are  truths 
which  lie  too  deep  for  argument,  —  truths,  to  the  establishment  of 
which  the  evidence  of  the  senses,  or  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  have 
contributed  more  than  the  slow  process  of  reasoning ;  —  which  are 
graven  in  deeper  characters  than  any  that  reason  can  either  impress  or 
efface  When  Doctor  Johnson  was  asked  to  refute  the  arguments  for 
the  non-existence  of  matter,  he  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  ground,  and 
exclaimed,  "  I  refute  them  thus.''  When  Mr.  Canning  heard  the 
first  whisper  in  this  House  of  a  repeal  of  the  Union,  ,  this  was  all  the 
answer  he  vouchsafed, — the  eloquent  and  indignant  answer,  the  tones 
of  which  are  still  familiar  to  my  ear,  —  "  Hepeal  the  Union  ?  Restore 
the  Heptarchy !  " 

Thirty-three  years  have  now  elapsed  since  the  passing  of  the  act  of 
Union ;  —  a  short  period,  if  you  count  by  the  lapse  of  time  ;  but  it  is  a 
period  into  which  the  events  of  centuries  have  been  crowded.  It 
includes  the  commencement  and  the  close  of  the  most  tremendous  con- 
flict which  ever  desolated  the  world.  Notwithstanding  the  then  recent 
convulsions  in  Ireland,  —  notwithstanding  the  dissatisSction  expressed 
with  the  Union,  —  the  United  Empire,  that  had  been  incorporated  onlv 
three  years  before  the  commencement  of  the  war,  escaped  the  calami 
ties  to  which  other  Nations  were  exposed.  In  our  gallant  armies  no 
distinction  of  Englishmen  and  Irishmen  was  known ;  none  of  the  vile 
jealousies,  which  this  motion,  if  successful,  would  generate,  impaired 
the  energies  which  were  exerted  by  all  in  defence  of  a  common  coun- 
try. ^  That  country  did  not  bestow  its  rewards  with  a  partial  hand. 
It  did  not,  because  they  were  Irishmen,  pay  a  less  sincere  or  less  will- 
bg  homage  to  the  glorious  memory  of  a  Ponsonby  and  a  Pakenham. 
Castlereagh  and  Canning  fought  in  the  same  ranks  with  Pitt ;  and 
Grattan  took  his  place,  in  the  great  contests  of  party,  by  the  side  of 
Fox.  The  majestic  oak  of  the  forest  was  transplanted,  but  it  shot  its 
roots  deep  in  a  richer  and  more  congenial  soil.  Above  all,  to  an  Irish* 
man  —  to  that  Arthur  Wellesley,  who,  in  the  emphatic  words  of  the 
learned  gentleman  (Mr.  Shcil),  "eclipsed  his  military  victories  by  the 
splendor  of  his  civil  triumphs'"  —  to  him  was  committed,  with  thf: 


,280 


IHE  BTANDARI)  SPEAKER 


aiViinimous  assent  and  confidence  of  a  generous  coimirj,  the  great  aiwj 
glorious  task  of  elfecting  the  deliverance  of  the  world.  Who  m  thai 
Irishman,  who,  recollecting  these  things,  has  the  spirit  and  the  heart 
to  propose  that  Ireland  shall  be  defrauded  for  the  future  of  her  share 
of  such  high  achievements ;  that  to  her  the  wide  avenues  to  civil  and 
military  glory  shall  be  hereafter  closed ;  that  the  faculties  and  ener- 
gies of  her  sons  shall  be  forever  stunted  by  being  cramped  within  the 
paltry  J  units  of  a  small  island  ?  Surely,  Sir,  we  owe  it  to  the  memory 
of  the  iiiusn-ious  brave,  who  died  in  defending  this  great  Empire  from 
dismemberment  by  the  force  and  genius  of  Napoleon,  at  least  to  save 
it  from  dismemberment  by  the  ignoble  enemies  that  now  assail  it ! 


126.    AMERICAN  MERCHANT  VESSELS,  1850. —iZicAarti  Coftden. 

I  SOMETIMES  quote  the  United  States  of  America ;  and,  I  think,  in  this 
matter  of  national  defence,  they  set  us  a  very  good  example.  Does 
anybody  dare  to  attack  that  Nation  ?  There  is  not  a  more  formidable 
Power,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  —  although  you  may  talk  of  France 
and  Russia,  —  than  the  United  States  of  America  ;  and  there  is  not  a 
statesman  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders  who  does  not  know  it ,  and  yet 
the  policy  of  the  United  States  has  been  to  keep  a  very  small  amount 
of  armed  force  in  existence.  At  the  present  moment,  they  have  not  a 
iine-of-battle  ship  afloat,  notwithstanding  the  vast  extension  of  their 
commercial  marine.  Last  year  she  recalled  the  last  ship-of-war  from 
the  Pacific  ;  and  I  shall  be  very  much  astonished  if  you  see  another 
The  People  are  well  employed,  and  her  taxation  is  light,  which  coun- 
tries cannot  have  if  they  burden  themselves  with  the  expense  of  these 
enormous  armaments. 

Now,  many  persons  appeal  to  the  English  Nation  under  the  impres- 
sion that  they  are  a  very  pugnacious  People.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that 
we  are  not.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  my  opponents  do  not  sometimes 
have  the  advantage  over  me  in  appealing  to  the  ready-primed  pug- 
nacity of  our  fellow-countrymen.  I  believe  I  am  pugnacious  myself  ; 
but  what  I  want  is,  to  persuade  my  countrymen  to  preserve  their 
pugnaciousness  until  somebody  comes  to  attack  them.  Be  assured, 
if  you  want  to  be  prepared  for  future  war,  you  will  be  better  prepared 
ui  the  way  that  the  United  States  is  prepared,  —  by  the  enormous 
Qumber  of  merchant  ships  of  large  tonnage  constantly  building  ;  in 
ihe  vast  number  of  steamers  turning  out  of  the  building-yards  at  New 
York,  —  those  enormous  steamers,  finer  than  any  to  be  found  in  the 
royal  navies  of  any  country  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  commonly 
extending  from  fifteen  hundred  to  sixteen  hundred  tons.  If  the  spirit 
of  America  were  once  aroused,  and  her  resentment  excited,  her  mercan- 
tile marine  alone, —  the  growth  of  commerce,  the  result  of  a  low  taxa- 
tion, and  a  prosperous  People,  —  her  mercantile  marine  alone  would  \m 
more  than  a  match  for  any  war*navy  that  exists  on  the  contiLent  of 
Kurop« 


SENATJRIAI.  —  HENRY.  281 


12^     B3SISTANCE  TO  BRITISH  AGGRESSION.  -  Patrick  Henry. 

Patrick  Henry  was  born,  May  29th,  1736,  in  Hanover  county,  Virginia.  His  |f*{L>-r  was  t 
jAtiv^  of  Aberileou,  in  Scotland.  Patrick's  education  was  scanty,  and  he  entered  upon  the  prac 
hce  of  tbe  law  after  only  six  weeks  of  preparation.  Bu^  his  powers  of  eloquence  were  remark- 
able. H  i  was  elected  repeatedly  to  the  most  important  offices  in  the  gift  of  the  Peop'o  of  Vir- 
girua.  In  1788,  he  was  a  member  of  the  Convention  which  met  there  to  consider  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States,  and  exerted  himself  strenuously  against  its  adoption.    He  died  in  1799 

The  Virginia  Convention  nanug  before  them  resolutions  of  a  temporizing  character  towardi 
Great  Britain,  March  23d,  1775,  Mr.  Henry  introduced  others,  manly  and  decided  in  their  ton'* 
and  providing  that  the  Colony  should  be  immediately  put  in  a  state  of  defence.  These  countej 
.  resolutions  he  supported  in  the  followmg  memorable  speech,  the  result  of  which  was  their  adop. 
tion.  Of  the  eUect  of  this  speech,  Mr.  Wirt  says,  th-at,  when  Henry  took  his  seat,  at  its  close. 
No  murmur  of  applause  was  heard.  The  effect  was  too  deep.  After  'J^e  trance  of  a  moment; 
several  members  started  from  their  seats.  The  cry  to  arms !  seemed  to  quiver  on  every  lip  and 
gleam  from  every  eye.  They  became  mipatient  of  sp?'  -*  Their  souls  were  on  fire  for 
action." 

Mr.  President  it  is  natural  to  man  to  indulge  in  the  illusions  of  Hope. 
We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a  painful  truth,  and  listen  to  the 
song  of  that  siren,  till  she  transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is  this  the  part 
of  wise  men,  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for  liberty  ? 
KiQ  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those  who,  having  eyes,  see 
not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the  things  which  so  nearly  concern 
our  temporal  salvation  ?  For  my  part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it 
may  cost,  I  am  willing  to  know  the  whole  truth,  —  to  know  the  worst, 
and  to  provide  for  it ! 

I  have  but  one  lamp,  by  which  my  feet  are  guided ;  and  that  is  the 
lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judging  of  the  future  but 
by  the  past.  And,  judging  by  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there 
has  been  in  the  conduct  of  the  British  ministry,  for  the  last  ten  years, 
to  justify  those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to 
solace  themselves  and  the  House?  Is  it  that  insidious  smile  with 
which  our  petition  has  been  lately  received  ?  Trust  it  not,  Sir ;  it  will 
prove  a  snare  to  your  feet !  Suffer  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed 
with  a  kiss  !  Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  peti- 
tion comports  with  those  warlike  preparations  which  cover  our  waters 
and  darken  our  land.  Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of 
love  and  reconciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be 
reconsiled,  that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love? 

Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves.  Sir.  These  are  the  implements  of  war 
and  subjugation,  —  the  last  arguments  to  which  Kings  resort.  I  ask 
G-entlemen,  Sir,  what  means  this  martial  array,  if  its  purpose  be  not  to 
force  us  to  submission?  Can  Gentlemen  assign  any  other  possible 
motive  for  it  ? '  Has  Great  Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the 
world,  to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies  ?  No,  Sir 
she  has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us ;  they  can  be  meant  for  no  other! 
Ihey  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains  which  tho 
British  ministry  have  been  so  long  >  forging.  And  what  have  we  TO 
oppose  to  them  ?  —  Shall  we  try  argument  ?  Sir,  we  have  been  tryino 
that,  for  the  lest  ten  years.  Have  we  anything  new  to  offer  upon  the 
subject  ?  ^  Nothing.  We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of 
^hich  it  is  capable ;  but  it  has  been  all  in  vain. 
Shall  w«  resort  to  entreaty  and  humble  supplication?    What  tornia 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


ehall  we  find  wbich  have  not  already  been  exhausted  Let  us  mit, 
»eseech  you,  Sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer.  Sir,  we  hare  done  ey^ry 
thing  that  could  be  done,  to  avert  the  storm  which  is  now  coming  on 
We  have  petitioned,  we  have  remonstrated,  we  have  supplicated,  wt 
have  prostrated  ourselves  before  the  Throne,  and  have  implored  ite 
interposition  to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  Ministry  and  Parlia* 
ment.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted,  our  remonstrances  have  prt> 
duced  additional  violence  and  insult,  our  supplications  have  been  disre» 
garded,  and  we  have  been  spurned,  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the 
Throne. 

In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond  hope  of  peace 
yid  reconciliation.  There  ig  no  longer  any  room  for  hope.  If  we 
wish  to  be  free,  —  if  we  mean  to  preserve  inviolate  those  inestimable 
privileges  for  which  we  have  been  so  long  contending,  —  if  we  mean 
not  basely  to  abandon  the  noble  struggle  in  which  we  have  been  so 
long  engaged,  and  which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon 
until  the  glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained,  —  we  must 
fight ;  I  repeat  it,  Sir,  we  must  fight !  An  appeal  to  arms,  and  to  the 
God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us ! 


128.  f  HE  WAR  INEVITABLE,  March,  1775.  —  Patrick  Henry. 

They  tell  us.  Sir,  that  we  are  weak,  —  unable  to  cope  with  so  formi- 
dable an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger  ?  Will  it  be  the 
next  week,  or  the  next  year  ?  Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  dis- 
armed, and  when  a  British  guard  shall  be  stationed  in  every  house  ? 
Shall  we  gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction?  Shall  we 
acquire  the  means  of  effectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our 
backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom  of  hope,  until  our  enemies 
Rhall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot  ?  Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  We  make 
a  proper  use  of  those  means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in 
our  power. 

Three  millions  of  People,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty,  and  in 
•luch  a  country  as  that  which  we  possess,  are  invincible  by  any  force 
which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us.  Besides,  Sir,  we  shall  not  fight 
-lur  battles  alone.  There  is  a  just  God  who  presides  over  the  desti- 
nies of  Nations,  and  who  will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for 
us.  The  battle.  Sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant, 
the  active,  the  brave.  Besides,  Sir,  we  have  no  election.  If  we  were 
base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire  from  the  contest. 
There  is  no  retreat  but  in  submission  and  slavery !  Our  chains  are 
forged  !  Their  clanking  may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston  !  The 
R-ar  is  inevitable  ;  and  let  it  come  !    I  repeat  it.  Sir,  let  it  come  ! 

It  is  in  vain,  Sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry, 
peace,  peace  !  —  but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actually  begun  !  The 
flext  gale  that  sweeps  from  the  North  will  bring  lo  our  ears  the  clash 
if  resounding  arms !  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field  !  Whj 
/^.:d  we  here  idle  ?    What  ia  it  that  Gentlemen  wish  ?    What  woul(S 


BENATORIAL.  —  HENRY. 


288 


they  ha  ire  ?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  af 
the  price  of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it,  Almighty  God !  1  know 
not  what  course  others  may  take;  but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  oi 
give  me  death ! 


123.  RETURN  OF  BRITISH  FUGITirES,  m2.  — Patrick  Henry 

I  VENTURE  to  prophesy,  there  are  those  now 'living  who  will  see  thij* 
favored  land  amongst  the  most  powerful  on  earth,  —  able,  Sir,  to  take 
care  of  herself,  without  resorting  to  that  policy,  which  is  always  so 
dangerous,  though  sometimes  unavoidable,  of  calling  in  foreign  aid. 
5res.  Sb,  they  will  see  her  great  in  arts  and  in  arms,  —  her  golden 
harvests^  waving  over  fields  of  immeasurable  extent,  her  comlnerce 
penetrating  the  most  distant  seas,  and  her  cannon  silencing  the  vain 
boasts  of  those  who  now  proudly  affect  to  rule  the  waves.  But,  Sir, 
you  must  have  men,  —  you  cannot  get  along  without  them.  Those 
heavy  forests  of  valuable  timber,  under  which  your  lands  are  groaning, 
must  be  cleared  away.  Those  vast  riches  which  cover  the  face  of  your 
soil,  as  well  as  those  which  lie  hid  in  its  bosom,  are  to  be  developed 
and  gathered  only  by  the  skill  and  enterprise  of  men.  Your  timber, 
Sir,  must  be  worked  up  into  ships,  to  transport  the  productions  of  the 
soil  from  which  it  has  been  cleared.  Then,  you  must  have  commercial 
men  and  comm.ercial  capital,  to  take  off  your  productions,  and  find  the 
best  markets  for  them  abroad.  Your  great  want,  Sir,  is  the  want  of 
men ;  and  these  you  must  have,  and  will  have  speedily,  if  you  are 
wise. 

Do  you  ask  how  you  are  to  get  them  ?  Open  your  doors,  Sir,  and 
they  will  come  in !  The  population  of  the  Old  World  is  full  to  over- 
flowing.  That  population  is  ground,  too,  by  the  oppressions  of  the 
(rovernments  under  which  they  live.  Sir,  they  are  already  standing 
on  tiptoe  upon  their  native  shores,  and  looking  to  your  coasts  with  a 
wistful  and  longing  eye.  They  see  here  a  land  blessed  with  natural 
and  political  advantages,  which  are  not  equalled  by  those  of  any  other 
rrountry  upon  earth ;  —  a  land  on  which  a  gracious  Providence  hath 
emptied  the  horn  of  abundance,  —  a  land  over  which  Peace  hath  now 
stretched  forth  her  white  wings,  and  where  Content  and  Plenty  lie 
down  at  every  door ! 

Sir,  they  see  something  still  more  attractive  than  all  this.  They 
Bee  a  land  in  which  Liberty  hath  taken  up  her  abode,  ~  that  Liberty 
whom  they  had  considered  as  a  fabled  goddess,  existing  only  in  the 
fancies  of  poets.  They  see  her  here  a  real  divinity,  —  her  altars  rising 
on  every  hand,  throughout  these  happy  States ;  her  glories  chanted  by 
three  millions  of  tongues,  and  the  whole  region  smiling  under  her 
bles'-ed  influsnce.  Sir,  let  but  this,  our  celestial  goddess,  Liberty, 
stretch  forth  her  fair  hand  toward  the  People  of  the  Old  World,  — 
tell  them  to  come,  and  bid  them  welcome,  —  and  you  will  see  them 
pouring  in  from  the  North,  from  the  South,  from  the  East,  and  froi^ 
the  West.    Vour  wildernesses  will  be  cleared  and  settled,  youi  deserti 


E84 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


smile^  our  ranks  will  be  filled,  and  you  will  soon  be  iu  a  co'iditioo 
to  defy  the  powers  of  any  adversary 

But  Gentlemen  object  to  any  accession  from  Great  Britain,  and  par 
fcioularly  to  the  return  of  the  British  refugees.  Sir,  I  feel  no  objection 
to  the  return  of  those  deluded  people.  They  have,  to  be  sure,  mistaKon 
their  own  interests  most  wofully ;  and  most  wofuUy  have  they  suffered 
the  punishment  due  to  their  offences.  But  the  relations  which  we  bear 
to  them,  and  to  their  native  country,  are  now  changed.  Their  King"^ 
hath  acknowledged  our  independence ;  the  quarrel  is  over,  peace  hath 
returned,  and  found  us  a  free  People.  Let  us  have  the  magnanimity, 
Sir,  to  lay  aside  our  antipathies  and  prejudices,  and  consider  the  sub- 
ject in  a  political  light.  Those  are  an  enterprising,  moneyed  people 
They  will  be  serviceable  in  taking  off  the  surplus  produce  of  our  lands, 
and  supplying  us  with  necessaries,  during  the  infant  state  of  our  manu  ■ 
factures.  Even  if  they  be  inimical  to  us  in  point  of  feeling  and  prin- 
ciple, I  can  see  no  objection,  in  a  political  view,  in  making  them  trib- 
utary to  our  advantage.  And,  as  I  have  no  prejudices  to  prevent  my 
making  this  use  of  them,  so.  Sir,  I  have  no  fear  of  any  mischief  that 
they  can  do  us.  Afraid  of  them  /  —  What,  Sir,  shall  we,  who  have 
laid  the  proud  British  lion  at  our  feet,  now  be  afraid  of  his  whelps  ? 


130.  SUPPOSED  SPEECH  OP  JAMES  OTm.* —Mrs.  L.  M.  Child. 

England  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the  Nile  with  bulrushe,j 
as  fetter  the  step  of  Freedom,  more  proud  and  firm  in  this  youthfal 
iand  than  where  she  treads  the  sequestered  glens  of  Scotland,  or 
couches  herself  among  the  magnificent  mountains  of  Switzerland. 
Arbitrary  principles,  like  those  against  which  we  now  contend,  have 
cost  one  King  of  England  his  life,  —  another,  his  crown,  —  and  they 
may  yet  cost  a  third  his  most  flourishing  colonies. 

We  are  two  millions,  —  one-fifth  fighting  men.  We  are  bold  and 
vigorous,  —  and  we  call  no  man  master.  To  the  Nation  from  whom 
we  are  proud  to  derive  our  origin  we  ever  were,  and  we  ever  mil  be, 
ready  to  yield  unforced  assistance  ;  but  it  must  not,  and  it  never  can 
be,  extorted.  Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  "  Are  the  Americans  to*? 
poor  to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper  ?  "  No !  America,  thanks 
to  God  and  herself,  is  rich.  Bat  the  right  to  take  ten  pounds  implies 
the  right  to  take  a  thousand ;  and  what  must  be  the  wealth  that  avarice, 
aided  by  power,  cannot  exhaust  ?  True,  the  spectre  is  now  small ;  but  the 
Bhadow  he  casts  before  him  is  huge  enough  to  darken  all  this  fair  land 
Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  immense  debt  of  gratitude 
which  we  owe  to  England.  And  what  is  the  amount  of  this  debt  < 
VV'hv,  truly,  it  is  the  same  that  the  young  lion  owes  to  the  dam,  which 
tias  brought  it  forth  on  the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  or  left  it  amid  the 
winds  and  storms  of  the  desert. 

We  plunged  into  the  wave,  with  the  great  charter  of  freedom  iii  oui 

Born,  1725    killed  by  a  stroke  of  lightning,  1773. 


SENATORIAL  -  -  LEE. 


teeih  because  the  fagot  and  torch  were  behind  m.  We  have  waked 
this  new  world  from  its  savage  lethargy;  forests  have  been  prostrated 
m  our  path ;  towns  and  cities  have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowera 
of  the  tropics,  and  the  fires  in  our  autumnal  woods  are  scarcely  more 
rapid  than  the  increase  ©f  our  wealth  and  population.  And  do  we  owe 
all  this  to  the  kind  succor  of  the  mother  country  ?  No  !  we  owe  it  to 
the  granny  that  drove  us  from  her,  — to  the  pelting  storms  which 
invigorated  our  helpless  infancy. 

But  perhaps  others  will  say,  "We  ask  no  money  from  your  grati- 
tude,— we  only  demand  that  you  should  pay  your  own  expenses" 
And  who,  I  pray,  is  to  judge  of  their  necessity  ?  Why,  the  King,  — 
and,  with  ail  due  reverence  to  his  sacred  majesty,  he  understands  'the 
real  wants  of  his  distant  subjects  as  little  as  he  does  the  languao-e  of  the 
Uioctaws  !  Who  is  to  judge  concerning  the  frequency  of  these 
demands?  The  Ministry.  Who  is  to  judge  whether  the  money  is 
properly  expended?  The  Cabinet  behind  the  Throne.  In  every 
mstance,  those  who  take  are  to  judge  for  those  who  pay.  If  this  sys- 
tem IS  suffered  to  go  into  operation,  we  _!ill  have  reason  to  esteem  it 
a  pat  privilege  that  rain  and  dew  do  not  depend  upon  Parliament  • 
otherwise,  they  would  soon  be  taxed  and  dried.  But,  thanks  to  God 
there  is  freedom  enough  left  upon  earth  to  resist  such  monstrous  injus^ 
T^  v  ^^^^^^^"^^  of  liberty  is  extinguished  in  Greece  and  Rome  ;  but 
the  light  of  Its  glowing  embers  is  still  bright  and  strong  on  the  shores 
ot  America.  Actuated  by  its  sacred  influence,  we  will  resist  unto 
death.  But  we  wdl  not  countenance  anarchy  and  misrule.  The 
wrongs  that  a  desperate  community  have  heaped  upon  their  enemies 
shall  be  amply  and  speedily  repaired.  Still,  it  may  be  well  for  some 
proud  men  to  remember,  that  a  fire  is  lighted  in  these  Colonies  which 
one  breath  of  their  King  may  kindle  into  such  fury  that  the  blood  of 
all  iliiigland  cannot  extinguish  it ! 


131.  FOR  INDEPENDENCE,  1776. Henry  Lee.    Born,  1132;  died,179i. 

The  time  will  certainly  come  when  the  fated  separation  between  the 
mother  country  and  these  Colonies  must  take  place,  whether  you  will 
or  no  ;  for  so  it  is  decreed  by  the  very  nature  of  things,  —  by  the  pro- 
gressive  increase  of  our  population,  the  fertility  of  our  soil,  the  extent 
ot  our  territory,  the  industry  of  our  countrymen,  and  the  immensity 
0.  the  ocean  which  separates  the  two  countries.  And,  if  this  be  true  — 
as  K  is  most  true,  —  who  does  not  see  that  the  sooner  it  takes  place,' the 
better ;  that  it  would  be  the  height  of  folly,  not  to  seize  the  present  occa- 
Sion,  when  British  injustice  has  filled  all  hearts  with  indignation,  inspired 
all  minds  with  courage,  united  all  opinions  in  one,  and  put  amis  ia 
every  hand?  And  how  long  must  we  traverse  three  thousand  miles 
ot  a  stormy  sea,  to  solicit  of  arrogant  and  insolent  men  either  dounseh 
or  commands  to  regulate  our  domestic  affairs?  From  what  we  hav€ 
Already  achieved,  it  is  easy  to  presume  what  we  shaU  hereafter  acerw 


»86 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


plish.  Experience  is  the  source  of  sage  counsels,  and  liberty  is  iht 
mother  of  great  men.  Have  you  not  seen  the  enemy  driven  from 
Lexington  by  citizens  armed  and  assembled  in  one  day  ?  Already 
their  most  celebrated  generals  have  yielded  in  Boston  to  the  skill  of 
curs.  Already  their  seamen,  repulsed  from  our  coasts,  wander  over  the 
ocean',  the  sport  of  tempests,  and  the  prey  of  famine.  Let  us  hail  the 
favorable  omen,  and  fight,  not  for  the  sake  of  knowing  on  what  terms 
we  are  to  be  the  slaves  of  England,  but  to  secure  to  ourselves  a  free 
existence,  to  found  a  just  and  independent  Government. 

Why  do  we  longer  delay,  —  why  still  deliberate  ?  Let  this  most 
happy  day  give  birth  to  the  American  Republic.  Let  her  arise,  not 
to  devastate  and  conquer,  but  to  reestablish  the  reign  of  peace  and  of 
the  laws.  The  eyes  of  Europe  are  fixed  upon  us ;  she  demands  of  us 
a  living  example  of  freedom,  that  may  contrast,  by  the  felicity  of  the 
citizens,  with  the  ever-increasing  tyranny  which  desolates  her  polluted 
shores.  She  invites  us  to  prepare  an  asylum  where  the  unhappy  may 
find  solace,  and  the  persecuted  repose.  She  entreats  us  to  cultivate  a 
propitious  soil,  where  that  generous  plant  which  first  sprang  up  and 
grew  in  England,  but  is  now  withered  by  the  poisonous  blasts  of  Scot- 
tish tyranny,  may  revive  and  flourish,  sheltering  under  its  salubrious 
and  interminable  shade  all  the  unfortunate  of  the  human  race.  This 
is  the  end  presaged  by  so  many  omens : — by  our  first  victories  ;  by  the 
present  ardor  and  union ;  by  the  flight  of  Howe,  and  the  pestilence 
which  broke  out  among  Dunmore's  people ;  by  the  very  winds  which 
baffled  the  enemy's  fleets  and  transports,  and  that  terrible  tempest 
which  engulfed  seven  hundred  vessels  upon  the  coasts  of  Newfound- 
land. If  we  are  not  this  day  wanting  in  our  duty  to  country,  the 
names  of  the  American  Legislators  will  be  placed,  by  posterity,  at  the 
side  of  those  of  Theseus,  of  Lycurgus,  of  Romulus,  of  Numa,  of  the 
three  Williams  of  Nassau,  and  of  all  those  whose  memory  has  been, 
and  will  be,  forever  dear  to  virtuous  men  and  good  citizens  ! 


132.  THE  FEDERAL  CONSTITUTION,  1787.— Beryamm  FranWm.  Born,  1706 ;  rficd,  1790. 

The  following  is  strongly  marked  by  the  leading  traits  of  Franklin's  character,— his  liberality, 
ractical  wisdom,  and  spirit  of  compromise. 

Sir,  T  agree  to  this  Constitution,  with  all  its  faults,  —  if  they  are 
such,  —  because  I  think  a  general  Government  necessary  for  us,  and 
there  is  no  form  of  Governmen.t  but  what  may  be  a  blessing  to  the 
People,  if  well  administered ;  and  I  believe,  further,  that  tliis  is  likely 
to  be  well  administered  for  a  course  of  years,  and  can  only  end  in 
despotism,  as  other  forms  have  done  before  it,  when  the  People  shall 
become  so  corrupted  as  to  need  despotic  Government,  being  incapabln 
of  any  other.  I  doubt,  too,  whether  any  other  convention  we  can 
obtain  may  be  able  to  make  a  better  Constitution.  For,  when  you 
assemble  a  number  of  men,  to  have  the  advantage  of  their  joint  wis- 
dom, you  inevitably  assemble  with  those  men  all  their  prejudices,  their 
passi'-iis,  their  errors  of  opinion,  their  local  in*  crests,  and  their  selfiah 


SENATORIAL.  —  FRANKLIN, 


281 


r\ews.  From  ?iich  an  assembly  can  a  perfect  productlcn  be  expected ' 
ft,  therefore,  astonishes  me,  Sir,  to  find  this  system  approaching  so 
near  to  perfection  as  it  does ;  and  I  think  it  will  astonish  our  enemies, 
^h{j  are  waiting  with  confidence  to  hear  that  our  counsels  are  con- 
founiled,  like  those  of  the  builders  of  Babel,  and  that  our  States  are  on 
the  point  of  separation,  only  to  meet  hereafter  for  the  purpose  of  cut- 
fciug  one  another's  throats. 

Thus  I  consent,  Sir,  to  this  Constitution,  because  I  expect  no  better, 
and  because  I  am  not  sure  that  this  is  not  the  best.  The  opinions  I 
have  had  of  its  errors  I  sacrifice  to  the  public  good.  I  have  nevei 
.i^hispered  a  syllable  of  them  abroad.  Within  these  walls  they  wero 
born,  and  here  they  shall  die.  [f  every  one  of  us,  in  returning  to  his 
constituents,  were  to  report  the  oojections  he  has  had  to  it,  and  endeavor 
to  gain  partisans  in  support  of  them,  we  might  prevent  its  being  gener- 
ally received,  and  thereby  lose  all  the  salutary  efiects  and  great  advan- 
tages resulting  naturally  in  our  favor  among  foreign  Nations,  as  well 
as  among  ourselves,  from  our  real  or  apparent  unanimity.  Much  of 
the  strength  and  efficacy  of  any  Government,  in  procuring  and  secur- 
ing happiness  to  the  People,  depends  on  opinion,  — on  the  general  opin- 
ion of  the  goodness  of  that  Government,  as  well  as  of  the  wisdom  and 
integrity  of  its  Governors.  I  hope,  therefore,  that,  for  our  own  sakes, 
as  a  part  of  the  People,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  posterity,  we  shall  act 
heartily  and  unanimously  in  recommending  this  Constitution,  wherever 
our  influence  may  extend,  and  turn  our  future  thoughts  and  endeavors 
to  the  means  of  having  it  well  administered. 


133.  GOD  GOVERNS.  —  Benjamin  Franklin,  lTs7,  in  Convention. 

In  this  situation  of  this  Assembly, — groping,  as  it  were,  in  the  dark, 
to  find  political  truth,  and  scarce  able  to  distinguish  it  when  presented 
to  us,  —  how  has  it  happened,  Sir,  that  we  have  not  hitherto  once 
thought  of  humbly  applying  to  the  Father  of  Light  to  illuminate  our 
understanding  ?  In  the  beginning  of  the  contest  with  Britain,  when 
we  were  sensible  of  danger,  we  had  daily  prayers  in  this  room  for  the 
divine  protection.  Our  prayers,  Sir,  were  heard,  —  and  they  were 
graciously  answered.  All  of  us  who  were  engaged  in  the  struggle 
must  have  observed  frequent  instances  of  a  superintending  Providence 
in  our  favor.  To  that  kind  Providence  we  owe  this  happy  opportu- 
nity of  consulting  in  peace  on  the  means  of  establishing  our  future 
national  felicity.  And  have  we  now  forgotten  that  powerful  Friend  ? 
or  Jo  we  imagine  we  no  longer  need  His  assistance  ?  I  have  lived, 
Sir,  a  long  time  ;  and  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  convincing  proofs  I 
4ee  of  this  truth,  —  that  God  governs  in  the  of  airs  of  men.  And, 
if  a  sparrow  cannot  fall  to  the  grojind  without  His  notice,  is  it  prob&r 
hje  that  an  empire  can  rise  without  His  aid  ?  We  have  been  assured, 
Sir  in  the  Sacred  Writings,  that  ^'except  the  Lord  build  the  house, 
Ihoy  labor  in  vain  that  build  it."  I  firmly  believe  this ;  and  I  alst 
beheve  tiiat,  without  His  concurring  aid,  we  shall  saceeed  in  this  poJit 


288 


THE  STAxVDAE.D  SPEAKER. 


ical  builiing  no  better  than  the  builders  of  Babel ,  we  shall  be  di>ide<J 
by  our  little,  partial,  local  interests  ;  our  projects  will  be  confounded 
and  we  ourselves  shall  become  a  reproach  and  a  by-word  down  to  future 
ages.  And,  what  is  worse,  mankind  may  hereafter,  from  this  uufor 
tunate  instance,  despair  of  establishing  Government  by  human  wisdom 
and  l6ave  it  to  chance,  war,  and  conquest ' 


134.  IN  FAVOR  OF  A  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  —  Supposed  Speech  of 
John  Adams,  in  the  Continental  Congress,  July,  1776. 

Tb  3  subjoined  two  extracts  are  from  "A  Discourse  in  commemoration  of  the  Lives  and  Serviceei 
jf  John  Adams  and  Thomas  Jefferson,  by  Daniel  Webster,  delivered  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Boston, 
August  2,  1826."  The  sentiment  and  spirit  of  this  "  supposed  "  speech  appear  to  be  partially 
taken  from  a  letter  which  John  Adams  wrote  to  a  friend,  the  day  after  the  Declaration,  and  ir. 
wliich  he  said :  "  Yesterday  the  greatest  question  was  decided  that  was  ever  debated  in  Amer- 
ica ;  and  greater,  perhaps,  never  was  or  will  be  decided  by  men.  A  resolution  was  passed,  with 
out  one  dissenting  colony,  '  that  these  United  States  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  inde 
pendent  States.'  ^  The  day  is  passed.  The  Fourth  of  July,  1776,  will  be  a  memorable  epocha  in 
the  history  of  America.  I  am  apt  to  believe  it  will  be  celebrated,  by  succeeding  generations,  as 
the  great  anniversary  festival.  It  ought  to  be  commemorated  as  the  day  of  deUverance,  by 
solemn  acts  of  devotion  to  Almighty  God.  It  ought  to  be  solemnized  with  pomp,  shows,  games, 
sports,  guns,  bells,  bonfires,  and  illuminations,  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other,  from 
this  time  forward,  forever.  You  will  think  me  trans])orted  with  enthusiasm,  but  I  am  not.  I 
am  well  aware  of  the  toil,  and  blood,  and  treasure,  that  it  will  cost  to  maintain  this  declaration. 
AX)d  support  and  defend  these  States  ;  yet,  through  all  the  gloom,  I  can  see  the  rays  of  light  and 
glory.  I  can  see  that  the  end  is  worth  more  than  all  the  means  ;  and  that  posterity  will  triimaph, 
althoughyouandlmayrue,  — which,  I  hope,  we  shall  not."  ,o^^ 

By  a  felicitous  coincidence,  Adams  and  Jefferson  died  on  the  4th  of  July,  1826,  the  anmver- 
sary  of  the  occasion  which  they  had  done  so  much  to  render  memorable. 

Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my  hand  and 
my  heart  to  this  vote  !  It  is  true,  indeed,  that,  in  the  beginning,  we 
aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there  is  a  Divinity  which  shapes  our 
ends.  The  injustice  of  England  has  driven  us  to  arms  ;  and,  blinded 
to  her  own  interest  for  our  good,  she  has  obstinately  persisted,  till 
independence  is  now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach  forth 
to  it,  and  it  is  ours.  Why,  then,  should  we  defer  the  Declaration  1 
Is  any  man  so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation  with  England, 
which  shall  leave  either  safety  to  the  country  and  its  liberties,  ci 
safety  to  his  own  life,  and  his  own  honor  ?  Are  not  you.  Sir,  who  sit 
in  that  chair,  — is  not  he,  our  venerable  colleague  near  you,  — are  not 
both  already  the  proscribed  and  predestined  objects  of  punishment  and 
of  vengeance  ?  Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal  clemency,  what  are 
you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the  power  of  England  remains,  but  out- 
laws  ? 

If  we  postpone  independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on,  or  give  up, 
the  war?  Do  we  moan  to  submit  to  the  measures  of  Tarliament, 
Boston  port-bill  si:d  all  ?  Do  we  mean  to  submit,  and  consent  that 
we  ourselves  shall  b^  ground  to  powder,  and  our  country  and  its  rights 
trodden  down  in  the  dust  ?  I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  We 
never  shall  submit.  Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obliga- 
tioTS  ever  entorod  into  by  men,  — that  plighting,  bei-ore  God,  of  oui 
sacred  honor  to  Washington,  when,  putting  him  forth  to  incur 
^ncrers  of  war.  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of  the  times,  we  prom' 


SENATORIAL.    -JOHN  ADAMi^.  ^yy 

ised  to  adhere  tc  iim,  in  every  extremity,  with  our  fortu^ies  and  onr 

I  know  there  is  not  a  man  here  who  would  not  rather  see  a  general 
conflagration  sweep  over  the  land,  or  an  earthquake  sink  it,  than  one 
pt  or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith  fall  to  the  ground.  For  mvself 
having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place,  moved  you  that  George 
Washington  be  appointed  commander  of  the  forces  raised,  or  to  be 
raised,  for  defence  of  American  liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  its 
cunning,  and  my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate 
or  waver  m_  the  support  I  give  him  '  The  war,  then,  must  go  on.  W« 
must  fight  It  through.  & 

T  ^""^'  a   *'^^/^^,^"s*go  on,  why  put  off  longer  the  Declaration  of 
Independence?    That  measure  will  strengthen  us.     It  will  give  us 
character  abroad     The  Nations  will  then  treat  with  us,  which  thev 
never  can  do  while  we  acknowledge  ourselves  subjects  in  arms  against 
our  sovereign    x\ay,  I  maintain  that  England  herself  will  sooner  treat 
for  peace  with  us  on  the  footing  of  independence,  than  consent  by 
repealing  her  acts,  to  acknowledge  that  her  whole  conduct  towards  i 
has  been  a  course  of  injustice  and  oppression.    Her  pride  will  be  less 
wounded  by  submitting  to  that  course  of  things  which  now  predesti- 
nates  our  independence,  than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to 
her  rebellious  subjects.   The  former  she  would  regard  as  the  result  of 
fortune  ;  the  latter,  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep  disgrace.  Wh^ 
then,  bir,  do  we  not,  as  soon  as  possible,  change  this  from  a  civil  to 
national  war  ?  And,  since  we  must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put  out 
selves  in  a  state  to  enjoy  all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain  the  vic- 
tory ?    If  we  fail,  It  can  be  no  worse  for  us.    But  we  shall  not  faD 

135.  CONCLUSION  OF  THE  PRECEDING. 

The  cause  will  raise  up  armies; -the  cause  will  create  navir. 
The  people,  -  the  people,  -  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry  m 
and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through  this  struggle.  1  ca. 
not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been  found.  I  know  the  people  o 
these  colonies;  and  I  know  that  resistance  to  British  aggression  l«  dec. 
and  settled  m  their  hearts,  and  cannot  be  eradicated.^  Every  coW 
indeed,  has  expressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take  the  !eac 
Wnt  ^p"'^^'^*^°"  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased  course 
f     '''''^  '''''i  ^^^^^  restoration  of  privileges,  to. 

redress  of  ^-levances,  for  chartered  immunities,  held  under  a  Br*^^. 

u  "nl  .w'!  ^H^'T  '^J^'*  independence  ^uC  k 

Tt  1^  r  /  P  .V^'""  ^""'^      ^^'"^^  ^'^^  this  Dcckr.tK,!) 

hJ^      A.f    f  ^"""^ '  ~  ^""^'^  '^^^^  ^^^^      <^rawn  from  itB  scat, 
n/L        ^^lemn  VOW  Uttered,  to  maintain  it,  or  to  perl«li  on  ti^ 
bed  of  honor.    Publish  it  from  the  Pulpit;  -  religion  will  approv.  il, 

wm.tt  n  °  "ul^r  ^^^'l'^  ^^^"g  ^^^"d^t'  resolved  ^to  stJd, 
w  1h  It,  or  faa  with  it  Send  it  to  the  public  halls ;  proclaiir  it  ^h^" 
let  fchem  hear  it  who  heard  the  first  roar  of  the  enemy's  «.u 


290 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


them  see  it  who  saw  their  brothers  and  their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of 
banker  Hill,  and  in  the  streets  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  —  and  the 
very  walls  will  cry  out  in  its  support ! 

Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  alfairs ;  but  I  see  clearly 
through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  indeed,  may  rue  it.  We 
may  not  live  to  see  the  time  when  this  Declaration  shall  be  made  good. 
We  may  die,  —  die  colonists ;  die  slaves ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously 
and  on  the  scaffold  !  Be  it  so  !  be  it  so  !  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of 
Heriven  that  my  country  shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life,  th€ 
victim  shall  be  ready  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice,  come  when 
that  hour  may.  But,  while  I  do  live,  let  me  ha\e  a  country,  —  or,  at 
least,  the  hope  of  a  country,  and  that  a  free  country. 

But,  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured  that  this  Declaration 
will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it  may  cost  blood ;  but  it  will 
stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate  for  both.  Through  the  thick 
gloom  of  the  present,  I  see  the  brightness  of  the  future,  as  the  sun  in 
Heaven.  We  shall  make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When  we 
are  in  our  graves,  our  children  will  honor  it.  They  will  celebrate  it 
with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and  illuminations. 
On  its  annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears,  —  copious,  gushing  tears, 
—  not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and  distress,  —  but  of 
exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy.  Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the 
hour  is  come !  My  judgment  approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole 
■  heart  is  in  it.  All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope, 
in  this  life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  off,  as 
I  began,  that,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the  Declaration ' 
It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall  be  my 
dying  sentiment,  —  Independence  now,  and  Independence  forever  ! 


136.  THE  general  GOVERNMENT  AND  THE  STATES.  —  Alexander  Hamilton. 

Alexander  Hamilton  was  born  in  Nevis,  one  of  the  West  India  Islands,  in  1757.  After  som« 
military  experience,  he  entered  upon  the  study  of  the  law,  and  rose  to  great  eminence  in  the 
councils  of  the  Nation.  With  Madison  and  Jay,  he  wrote  the  "Federalist,"  and  labored  stren- 
uously in  behalf  of  the  Constitution.  He  was  the  first  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  of  the  United 
States.  He  was  shot  by  Aaron  Burr,  in  a  duel,  in  1804.  The  two  following  speeches  were  deliv- 
ered in  the  Convent'on  of  New  Yorii,  on  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution,  1788. 

Mr.  Chairman,  it  has  been  advanced  as  a  principle,  that  no  Gov- 
ernment but  a  Despotism  can  exist  in  a  very  extensive  country.  This 
IS  a  melancholy  consideration,  indeed.  If  it  were  founded  on  truth, 
we  ought  to  dismiss  the  idea  of  a  Republican  Government,  even  for 
the  State  of  New  York.  But  the  position  has  been  misapprehended. 
Its  application  relates  only  to  democracies,  where  the  body  of  the  Peo- 
ple caeet  to  transact  business,  and  where  representation  is  unknown 
The  application  is  wrong  in  respect  to  all  representative  Governments , 
but  especially  in  relation  to  a  Confederacy  of  States,  in  which  the 
Supreme  Legislature  has  only  general  powers,  and  the  civil  and  domes- 
tic concerns  of  the  People  are  regulated  by  the  laws  of  the  several 
States.  I  insist  that  it  never  can  be  the  interest  or  desire  of  the 
oational  Legislature  to  destroy  the  State  Governments.     The  blow 


SENATORIAL.  HAMILTON.  29i 

umei  at  the  members  must  give  a  fatal  wound  to  the  head  ,  and  the 
aestmction  of  the  States  must  be  at  once  a  political  suicide  But 
imagmo,  for  a  moment,  that  a  political  frenzy  should  seize  the  Govern- 
mant ;  suppose  they  should  make  the  attempt.  Certainly,  Sir,  it 
would  be  forever  impracticable.  This  has  been  sufficiently  demon- 
strated  by  reason  and  experience.  It  has  been  proved  that  the  mem. 
•  hers  ot  Kepublics  have  been,  and  ever  will  be,  stronger  than  the  head. 
Let  us  attend  to  one  general  historical  example. 

In  the  ancient  feudal  Governments  of  Europe,  there  were,  in  the 
hrst  place,  a  Monarch ;  subordinate  to  him,  a  body  of  Nobles  •  and 
subject  to  these,  the  vassals,  or  the  whole  body  of  the  People  '  The 
authority  of  the  Kings  was  limited,  and  that  of  the  Barons  considera- 
bly mdependent.  The  histories  of  the  fcadal  wars  exhibit  little  more 
than  a  series  of  successful  encroachments  on  the  prerogatives  of  Mon- 
archy. ° 

•  f^n  ^®  superiority  which  the  members 

in  limited  Governments  possess  over  their  head.  As  long  as  the 
Barons  enjoyed  the  confidence  and  attachment  of  the  People,  they  had 
the  strength  of  the  country  on  their  side,  and  were  irresistible.  I  may 
be  told  in  some  instances  the  Barons  were  overcome  ;  but  how  did  this 
happen  ?  Sir,  they  took  advantage  of  the  depression  of  the  royal 
authority,  and  the  establishment  of  their  own  power,  to  oppress  and 
tyrannize  over  their  vassals.  As  commerce  enlarged,  and  wealth  and 
civilization  increased,  the  People  began  to  feel  their  own  wei<^ht  and 
consequence  ;  they  grew  tired  of  their  oppressions ;  united  their 
strength  with  that  of  their  Prince,  and  threw  o£f  the  yoke  of  Aris- 
tocracy. These  very  instances  prove  what  I  contend  for.  They  prove 
that  in  whatever  direction  the  popular  weight  leans,  the  current  of 
power  will  flow ;  whatever  the  popular  attachments  be,  there  will  rest 
the  political  superiority.  Sir,  can  it  be  opposed  that  the  State  Gov- 
ernments will  become  the  oppressors  of  the  People  ?  Will  they  forfeit 
their  affections  ?  Will  they  combine  to  destroy  the  liberties  and  hap- 
pmess  of  their  feiiow-citizens,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  involving  them- 
gelvesm  rum?  God  forbid  !  The  idea,  Sir,  is  shocking !  It  outrages 
every  feeling  of  humanity,  and  every  dictate  of  common  sense  ! 

137.  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. -Alexander  Hamilton. 

After  all  our  doubts,  our  suspicions  and  speculations,  on  the  sul> 
j.)ct  ot  Government,  we  must  return,  at  last,  to  this  important  truth, 
—  that,  when  we  have  formed  a  Constitution  upon  free  principles, 
when  we  have  given  a  proper  balance  to  the  different  branches  of 
Administration,  and  fixed  Representation  upon  pure  and  equal  princi 
pies,  we  may,  with  safety,  furnish  it  with  all  the  powers  necessary  t^ 
answr.r,  m  the  most  ample  manner,  the  purposes  of  Government  The 
great  desiderata  are  a  free  Representation,  and  mutual  checks.  When 
these  are  obtained,  all  our  apprehensions  of  the  extent  of  powers  are 
ttnjust  mi  imagmaij.    What,  then,  is  the  structure  of  this  Oonstitu. 


THE  STiNDAKD  SPEAKEB. 


don  ?  One  branch  of  the  Legislature  is  to  be  elected  by  the  Peoplt 
—  by  the  same  People  wao  choose  your  State  Representatives.  It? 
members  ar  3  to  hold  their  ofl&ce  two  years,  and  then  return  to  their 
constituents.  Here,  Sir,  the  People  govern.  Here  they  act  by  their 
immediate  Representatives.  You  have  also  a  Senate,  constituted  by 
your'  State  Legislatures,  — by  men  in  whom  you  place  the  highest  con. 
fidence,  —  and  forming  another  Representative  branch.  Then,  again, 
you  have  an  Executive  Magistrate,  created  by  a  form  of  election  which 
merits  universal  admiration. 

In  the  form  of  this  Government,  and  in  the  mode  of  Legislation, 
you  find  all  the  checks  which  the  greatest  politicians  and  the  best 
wri'-ers  have  ever  conceived.    What  more  can  reasonable  men  desire  ? 

there  any  one  branch  in  which  the  whole  Legislative  and  Executive 
powers  are  lodged?  No!  The  Legislative  authority  is  lodged  in 
three  distinct  branches,  properly  balanced  ;  the  Executive  authority  is 
divided  between  two  branches ;  and  the  Judicial  is  still  reserved  for  an 
independent  body,  who  hold  their  office  during  good  behavior.  This 
organization  is  so  complex,  so  skilfully  contrived,  that  it  is  next  to 
impossible  that  an  impolitic  or  wicked  measure  should  pass  the  great 
scrutiny  with  success.  Now,  what  do  Gentlemen  mean,  by  coming  for- 
ward and  declaiming  against  this  Government  ?  Why  do  they  say  we 
ought  to  limit  its  powers,  to  disable  it,  and  to  destroy  its  capacity  of 
blessing  the  People?  Has  philosophy  suggested,  has  experience 
taught,  that  such  a  Government  ought  not  to  be  trusted  with  every- 
thing necessary  for  the  good  of  society  ?  Sir,  when  you  have  divided 
and  nicely  balanced  the  departments  of  Government ;  ^  when  you  have 
strongly  cormected  the  virtue  of  your  rulers  with  their  interests  ;  when, 
in  short,  you  have  rendered  your  system  as  perfect  as  human  forms  can 
be,  —  you  must  place  confidence ;  you  must  give  power. 


138.    ARISTOCRACY,  IKS.— Robert  R.  Livingston.    Born,  1748  ;  died,  1813. 

The  gentleman,  who  has  so  copiously  declaimed  again? t  all  declama 
tion,  has  pointed  his  artillery  against  the  rich  and  great.  We  are  told 
that,  in  every  country,  there  is  a  natural  Aristocracy,  and  that  this 
Aristocracy  consists  of  the  rich  and  the  great.  Nay,  the  gentleman 
goes  further,  and  ranks  in  this  class  of  men  the  wise,  the  learned,  and 
those  eminent  for  their  talents  or  great  virtues.  Does  a  man  possess 
the  confidence  of  his  fellow-citizens,  for  having  done  them  important 
services  ?  He  is  an  Aristocrat !  Has  he  great  integrity  ?  He  is  an 
Aristocrat !  Indeed,  to  determine  that  one  is  an  Aristocrat,  we  need 
only  to  be  assured  that  he  is  a  man  of  merit.  But  I  hope  we  have 
many  such.  So  sensible  am  I  of  that  gentleman's  talents,  integiity, 
and  virtue,  that  we  might  at  once  hail  him  the  first  of  the  Nobles,  the 
very  Prince  of  the  Senate  ! 

But  whom,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  would  the  gentlemaH 
0»ve  to  represent  us  ^    Not  the  rich,  for  they  are  sheer  Aristocrats 


SENATORIAL.  KANDOLPH. 


293 


^ot  the  learned,  the  wise,  the  virtuous ;  for  they  are  ail  Aristocrata 
V/hom  then  ?  Why,  those  who  are  not  virtuous ;  those  who  are  not 
wise  ;  those  who  are  not  learned  ;  —  these  are  the  men  to  whom  alone 
we  can  trust  our  liberties !  He  says,  further,  we  ought  not  to  choos€ 
Aristocrats,;  because  the  People  will  not  have  confidence  in  them . 
That  IS  to  say,  the  People  will  not  have  confidence  in  those  who  best 
deserve  and  most  possess  their  confidence  !  He  would  have  his  Gov- 
ernment  composed  of  other  classes  of  men.  Where  will  be  find  them  ? 
Why,  he  must  go  forth  into  the  highways,  and  pick  up  the  rogue  and 
the  robber.  He  must  go  to  the  hedges  and  the  ditches,  and  bring  in 
the  poor,^  the  blind,  and  the  lame.  As  the  gentleman  has  thus  settled 
the  definition  of  Aristocracy,  I  trust  that  no  man  will  think  it  a  term 
of  reproach  ;  for  who,  among  us,  would  not  be  wise  ?  who  would  noi 
be  virtuous  ?  who  would  not  be  above  want  ?  The  truth  is,  in  these 
Republican  Governments,  we  know  no  such  ideal  distinctions.  We 
are  all  equally  Aristocrats.  Offices,  emoluments,  honors,  the  roads  to 
preferment  and  to  wealth,  are  alike  open  to  all. 


m  EXTENT  OP  COUNTRY  NO  BAR  TO  VNIO^.  -  Edmund  Randolpk.  1813. 
In  the  Virginia  Convention  on  the  Federal  Constitution,  1788. 

Extent  of  country,  in  my  conception,  ought  to  be  no  bar  to  the 
adoption  of  a  good  Government.  No  extent  on  earth  seems  to  me  too 
gi-eat,  provided  the  laws  be  wisely  made  and  executed.  The  principles 
of  representation  and  responsibility  may  pervade  a  large,  as  well  as  a 
small  territory ;  and  tyranny  is  as  easily  introduced  into  a  small  as 
mto  a  large  district.  Union,  Mr.  Chairman,  is  the  rock  of  our  sal- 
vation. _  Our  safety,  our  political  happiness,  our  existence  depend  on 
the  Union  of  these  States.  Without  Union,  the  People  of  this  and  the 
other  States  will  undergo  the  unspeakable  calamities  which  discord 
taction,  turbulence,  war  and  bloodshed,  have  continually  produced  in 
other  countries.  Without  Union,  we  throw  away  all  those  blessings 
tor  which  we  have  so  earnestly  fought.  Without  Union,  there  is  no 
peace.  Sir,  in  the  land. 

The  American  spirit  ought  to  be  mixed  with  American  pride  — 
pride  to  see  the  Union  magnificently  triumph.  Let  that  glorious  pride 
which  once  defied  the  British  thunder  reanim.ate  you  again  Let  it 
not  be  recorded  of  Americans,  that,  after  having  performed  the  most 
gallant  exploits,  after  having  overcome  the  most  astonishing  diffi- 
culties, and  after  having  gained  the  admiration  of  the  world  by 
their  mcomparable  valor  and  policy,  they  lost  their  acquired  repu- 
fetion,  lost  their  national  consequence  and  happiness,  by  their 
J.wn  indiscretion.  Let  no  future  historian  inform  posterity  that 
iVmericans  wanted  wisdom  and  virtue  to  concur  in  any  re<nilar  effi- 
Jient  Government.  Catch  the  present  moment.  Seiz?  it  'with 
.viditj.  It  may  be  lost,  never  to  be  regamed  •  and  if  the  Umou  be 
bst  now.  I  fear  it  will  remain  so  forever 


TUB  jBYANDARD  SPEAKER. 


I4ft  VRANCE  AND  THE  UNITED  STATES.  —  Gcor^g-e  Washington.    B.  173     d.  iTW 

Reply,  as  President  of  the  United  States,  January  1st,  1796,  to  the  address  of  the  Ministd 
Plenipotentiary  of  the  French  Republic,  on  his  presenting  the  colors  of  France  to  the  Unit«« 
^tes. 

JBoRN,  Sir,  in  a  iand  of  liberty ;  having  early  learned  its  value 
auvi^g  engaged  in  a  perilous  conflict  to  defend  it ;  having,  i^i  a  word. 
"I.evoted  the  best  years  of  my  life  to  secure  its  permanent  establishment 
m  my  own  country,  —  my  anxious  recollections,  my  sympathetic  feel- 
ings, and  my  best  wishes,  are  irresistibly  excited,  whensoever,  in  any 
country,  I  see  an  oppressed  Nation  unfurl  the  banners  of  freedom. 
But,  above  all,  the  events  of  the  French  Revolution  have  produced  the 
deepest  solicitude,  as  well  as  the  highest  admiration.  To  call  your 
Nation  brave,  were  to  pronounce  but  common  praise.  Wonderful 
Pectple  !  Ages  to  come  will  read  with  astonishment  the  history  of 
your  brilliant  exploits  !  I  rejoice  that  the  period  of  your  toils  and  of 
your  immense  sacrifices  is  approaching.  I  rejoice  that  the  interesting 
ravolutionary  movements  of  so  many  years  have  issued  in  the  forma- 
(ion  of  a  Constitution  designed  to  give  permanency  to  the  great  objeci 
for  which  you  have  contended.  I  rejoice  that  liberty,  which  you  have 
so  long  embraced  with  enthusiasm,  —  liberty,  of  which  you  have  been 
the  invincible  defenders,  —  now  finds  an  asylum  in  the  bosom  of  a  regu- 
larly organized  Government ;  —  a  Government,  which,  being  formed 
to  secure  the  happiness  of  the  French  People,  corresponds  with  tho 
ardent  wishes  of  my  heart,  while  it  gratifies  the  pride  of  every  citizen 
of  the  United  States,  by  its  resemblance  to  his  own.  On  these 
glorious  events,  accept,  Sir,  my  sincere  congratulations. 

*  In  delivering  to  you  these  sentiments,  I  express  not  my  own  feel- 
ings r^nly,  but  those  of  my  fellow-citizens,  in  relation  to  the  commence- 
ment, the  progress,  ar.d  the  issue,  of  the  French  Revolution  ;  and 
ihey  will  ctTdially  join  with  me  in  purest  wishes  to  the  Supreme 
Being,  thai:  tbe  citizens  of  our  sister  Republic,  our  magnanimous 
allies,  may  soon  enjoy  in  peace  that  liberty  which  they  have  pur- 
chased at  so  gr>at  a  price,  and  all  the  happiness  which  liberty  can 
bestow. 

I  receive,  bi^-,  with  lively  sensibility,  the  symbol  of  the  triumphs 
and  of  the  enfranchisement  of  your  Nation,  the  colors  of  France, 
which  you  have  now  presented  to  tbe  United  States.  The  transaction 
will  be  announcea  to  Congr'^ss  •  and  the  colors  will  be  deposited  with 
those  archives  of  the  United  States  which  are  at  once  the  evidences 
and  the  memorials  oi  their  freedom  and  independence.  May  these  be 
perpetual !  And  may  thb  friendship  of  the  two  Republics  be  com" 
mensurate  with  their  existence  I 


lil.  AGAINST  FOREIGN  ENTANGI  Ejsf^lN  IS,  1796.  —  George  fTashinffton. 

Against  the  insidious  wiles  of  for».^gr  iE%«j»^e  oopiur^>  yon  tc 
believe  me,  fellow-citizens)  the  jealousy  ot  a.  free  Pewle  oii(»^^  be 
ctynstantly  awaka;  since  history  and  evpenanae  m-ov*.  tua^  •'•'■^^ 


SENATORIAL.  AMES. 


influence  is  ono  of  the  most  baneful  foes  of  Republican  Governraent. 
But  that  jealousy,  to  be  useful,  must  be  impartial ;  else  it  becomes  the 
instrument  of  the  very  influence  to  be  avoided,  instead  of  a  defence 
ugainst  it.  Excessive  partiality  for  one  Nation,  and  excessive  dislike 
for  another,  cause  those  whom  they  actuate  to  see  danger  only  on  one 
side,  and  serve  to  veil,  and  even  second,  the  arts  of  influence  on  tht 
other.  Real  patriots,  who  may  resist  the  intrigues  of  the  lavorito,  ure 
liable  to  become  suspected  and  odious ;  while  its  tools  and  dupes  usurp 
the  applause  and  confidence  of  the  People,  to  surrender  their 
interests.  The  great  rule  of  conduct  for  us,  in  regard  to  foreign 
Nations,  is,  in  extending  our  commercial  relations,  to  have  with  them 
as  little  political  connection  as  possible.  So  far  as  we  have  already 
formed  engagements,  let  them  be  fulfilled  with  perfect  good  faith. 
Here  let  us  stop. 

Europe  has  a  set  of  primary  interests,  which  to  us  have  none,  or  a 
very  remote  relation.  Hence,  she  must  be  engaged  in  frequent  con- 
troversies, the  causes  of  which  are  essentially  foreign  to  our  concerns. 
Hence,  therefore,  it  must  be  unwise  in  us  to  implicate  ourselves  by 
artificial  ties  in  the  ordinary  vicissitudes  of  her  politics,  or  the  ordi- 
nary combinations  and  collisions  of  her  friendships  or  enmities.  Our 
detatched  and  distant  situation  invites  and  enables  us  to  pursue  a 
different  course.  If  we  remain  one  People,  under  an  efficient  Govern- 
ment, the  period  is  not  far  ofi"  when  we  may  defy  material  injury  from 
external  annoyance;  when  we  may  take  such  an  attitude  as  will 
cause  the  neutrality  we  may  at  any  time  resolve  upon  to  be  scrupu- 
lously respected ;  when  belligerent  Nations,  under  the  impossibility  of 
making  acquisitions  upon  us,  will  not  lightly  hazard  the  giving  us 
provocation  ;  when  we  may  choose  peace  or  war,  as  our  interest,  guided 
by  justice,  shall  counsel.  Why  forego  the  advantages  of  so  peculiar  a 
situation  ?  Why  quit  our  own  to  stand  on  foreign  ground  ?  Why, 
by  interweaving  our  destiny  with  that  of  any  part  of  Europe,  entangle 
our  peace  and  prosperity  in  the  toils  of  European  ambition,  rivalship, 
interest,  humor  or  caprice  ? 


142.  SANCTITY  OF  TREATIES,  im.  —  Fisher  Ames. 

¥isher  Ames,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  American  Statesmen  and  writers,  was  born  in 
'>edham,  Massachusetts,  1758,  and  died  July  4, 1808.  He  was  a  member  of  Congress  during 
kJie  eight  years  of  Washington's  administration,  of  which  he  was  the  earnest  and  able  champioa. 

We  are  either  to  execute  this  treaty,  or  break  our  faith  To  expa- 
tiate on  the  value  of  public  faith  may  pass  with  some  m.en  for  decla- 
mation :  to  such  men  I  have  nothing  to  say.  To  others,  I  will  urge, 
can  any  circumstance  mark  upon  a  People  more  turpitude  and 
debasement  ?  Can  anything  tend  more  to  make  men  think  themselves 
mean,  —  or  to  degrade  to  a  lower  point  their  estimation  of  virtue,  and 
their  standard  of  action  ?  It  would  not  merely  demoralize  mankind 
it  tends  to  break  all  the  ligaments  of  society  ;  to  dissolve  thit  rfiy* 
lerious  charm  which  attracts  individuals  to  the  Nation;  and  to  it^spiiv 
m  it  3  stead,  a  repulsive  sense  of  shame  and  disgust. 


THE  STANl^ARD  SPEAKER. 


Wnat  is  patriotism  ?  Is  it  a  narrow  affection  for  the  spot  whore  t 
nsan  was  b)rn  ?  Are  the  very  clods  where  we  tread  e  ititled  to  this 
ardent  preference,  because  they  are  greener  ?  No,  Sir ;  this  is  not  tho 
stiaracter  of  the  virtue.  It  soars  higher  for  its  object.  It  b  an 
extended  self-love,  mingling  with  all  the  enjoyments  of  life,  and 
twisting  itself  with  the  minutest  filaments  of  the  heart,  It  is  thu"^ 
we  obey  the  laws  of  society,  because  they  are  the  laws  of  virtue,  in 
their  authority  we  see,  not  the  array  of  force  and  terror,  but  the 
renerable  image  of  our,  country's  honor.  Every  good  citizen  makes 
that  honor  his  own,  and  cherishes  it,  not  only  as  precious,  but  as 
sacred.  He  is  willing  to  risk  his  life  in  its  defence,  and  is  conscious 
that  he  gains  protection  while  he  gives  it ;  for  what  rights  of  a  citizen 
will  be  deemed  inviolable,  when  a  State  renounces  the  principles  that 
constitute  their  security  ?  Or,  if  his  life  should  not  be  invaded,  what 
would  its  enjoyments  be,  in  a  country  odious  in  the  eye  of  strangers, 
and  dishonored  in  his  own  ?  Could  he  look  with  affection  and  venera- 
tion to  such  a  country,  as  his  parent?  The  sense  of  having  one 
would  die  within  him  :  he  would  blush  for  his  patriotism,  if  he 
retained  any,  —  and  justly,  for  it  would  be  a  vice.  He  would  be  a 
banished  man  in  his  native  land.  I  see  no  exception  to  the  respect 
that  is  paid  among  Nations  to  the  law  of  good  faith.  It  is  the  philos- 
ophy of  politics,  the  religion  of  Governments.  It  is  observed  by 
barbarians.  A  whiff  of  tobacco-smoke,  or  a  string  of  beads,  gives 
not  merely  binding  force,  but  sanctity,  to  treaties.  Even  in  Algiers, 
a  truce  may  be  bought  for  money ;  but,  when  ratified,  even  Algiers  is 
too  wise,'  or  too  just,  to  disown  and  annul  its  obligation. 


143.  THE  BRITISH  TREATY.  1196.— Fisher  Ames 

Are  the  posts  of  our  frontier  to  remain  forever  in  the  possession  of 
Great  Britain  ?  Let  those  who  reject  them,  when  the  treaty  offers 
them  to  our  hands,  say,  if  they  choose  ^ey  are  of  no  importance. 
Will  the  tendency  to  Indian  hostilities  oe  contested  by  any  one  ? 
Experience  gives  the  answer.  Am  I  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
proving  this  point  ?  Certainly  the  very  men  who  charged  the  Indian 
war  on  the  detention  of  the  posts  will  call  for  no  other  proof  than  the 
recital  of  their  own  speeches.  "  Until  the  posts  are  restored,"  they 
exclaimed,  "  the  treasury  and  the  frontiers  must  bleed."_  Can  Gentle- 
men now  say  that  an  Indian  peace,  without  the  posts,  will  prove  firm  ? 
No,  Sir,  it  will  not  be  peace,  but  a  sword ;  it  will  be  no  better  than  a 
lure  to  draw  victims  within  the  reach  of  the  tomahawk. 

On  this  theme,  my  emotions  are  unutterable.  If  I  could  find  words 
for  them,  if  my  powers  bore  any  proportion  to  my  zeal,  I  would  swel. 
my  voice  to  such  a  note  of  remonstrance,  it  should  reach  every  log- 
house  beyond  the  mountains.  I  would  say  to  the  inhabitants,  Wake 
from  your  false  security'  Your  cruel  dangers,  your  more  crue. 
ippr^hensf  Dns,  are  soon  to  oe  renewed.    The  wounds,  yet  unhealed^ 


SEN  ATG  RIAL.  JEFFERSOK. 


297 


.ce  to  be  torn  open  again.  In  the  day-time,  your  path  through  the 
roods  will  be  ambushed.  The  darkness  of  midnight  will  glitter  with 
the  blaze  of  your  dwellings.  You  are  a  father,  —  the  blood  of  youi 
tons  shall  fatten  your  corn-fields !  You  are  a  mother,  —  the  war 
whoop  shall  wake  the  sleep  of  the  cradle  ! 

Who  will  say  that  I  exaggerate  the  tendencies  of  our  measures  ? 
Will  any  one  answer,  by  a  sneer,  that  all  this  is  idle  preaching  ?  Will 
any  one  deny  that  we  are  bound,  and,  I  would  hope,  to  good  purpose, 
by  the  most  solemn  sanctions  of  duty,  for  the  vote  we  give  ?  Are 
despots  alone  to  be  reproached  for  unfeeling  indifference  to  the  tears 
and  blood  of  their  subjects  ?  Are  republicans  irresponsible  ?  Can 
you  put  the  dearest  interest  of  society  at  risk,  without  guilt,  and 
without  remorse  ?  It  is  vain  to  offer,  as  an  excuse,  that  public  men 
are  not  to  be  reproached  for  the  evils  that  may  happen  to  ensue  from 
their  measures.  This  is  very  true,  where  they  are  unforeseen  or 
inevitable.^  Those  I  have  depicted  are  not  unforeseen  ;  they  are  so 
far  from  inevitable,  we  are  going  to  bring  them  into  being  by  our 
vote.  We  choose  the  consequences,  and  become  as  justly  answerable 
for  them  as  for  the  measure  that  we  know  will  produce  them. 
.  By  rejecting  the  posts,  we  light  the  savage  fires,  we  bind  the  vic- 
tims. This  day  we  undertake  to  render  account  to  the  widows  and 
orphans  whom  our  decision  will  make ;  —  to  the  wretches  that  will 
oe  roaFtcd  at  the  stake ;  to  our  country,  and,  I  do  not  deem  it  too 
serious  lo  say,  to  conscience  and  to  God,  we  are  answerable ;  and,  if 
duty  by  anything  more  than  a  word  of  imposture,  if  conscience  be  not 
a  bugit^iar,  we  are  preparing  to  make  ourselves  as  wretched  as  our 
country.  There  is  no  mistake  in  this  case.  There  can  be  none. 
Expembi.ie  has  already  been  the  prophet  of  events,  and  the  cries  of 
our  fuuuiy  victims  have  already  reached  us.  The  Western  inhabitants 
ire  noi  a  silent  and  uncomplaining  sacrifice.  The  voice  of  humanity 
issues  iiym  the  shade  of  the  wilderness.  It  exclaims,  that,  while  one 
hand  la  weld  up  to  reject  this  treaty,  the  other  grasps  a  tomahawk, 
it  sumjtxons  our  imagination  to  the  scenes  that  will  open.  It  is  no 
great  ettrjrt  of  the  imagination  to  conceive  that  events  so  near  are 
dlreaay  begun.  I  can  fancy  that  I  listen  to  the  yells  of  savage 
fengeaiice,  and  the  shrieks  of  torture !  Already  they  seem  to  sigh  in 
iue  WciLtern  wind !  Already  they  mingle  with  every  echo  from  the 
biouniaiiis  ! 


V*4  A  Rfct>UBLIC  THE  STRONGEST  GOVERNMENT.  -  T.  Jefferson.  B.  ViS  ;  d.  1S28. 
Blomhis  Inaugui-al  Address,  as  President  of  the  United  States,  March  4, 1801. 

During  the  throes  and  convulsions  of  the  ancient  world,  —  during 
vLe  agonizing  spasms  of  infuriated  man,  seeking,  through  blood  and 
ftldughter,  his  long-lost  liberty,  —  it  was  not  wonderful  that  the  agitation 
yi  the  billows  should  reach  even  this  distant  and  peairetiil  shore,  — 
chat  this  should  be  more  felt  and  feared  by  some,  and  less  by  others,  — 
%id  )5hr.»uld  dividn  opinions  as  to  measures  of  safety.    But  everj 


298 


THE  STANDARD  SPE^AKR. 


differerme  of  opinion  is  not  a  difference  of  principle  We  have  ^  Jied 
by  different  names  brethren  of  the  same  principle.  We  are  ali  Re 
publicans :  we  are  all  Federalists.  If  there  be  any  among  us  whc 
would  wish  to  dissolve  this  Union,  or  to  change  its  republican  form, 
let  them  stand,  undisturbed,  as  monuments  of  the  safety  with  whicL 
error  of  opinion  may  be  tolerated,  where  reason  is  left  free  to  combat 
it,  I  know,  indeed,  that  some  honest  men  fear  a  republican  Govern- 
ment cannot  be  strong,  —  that  this  Grovernment  is  not  strong  enough. 
But  would  the  honest  patriot,  in  the  fiill  tide  of  successful  experiment, 
abandon  a  Government  which  has  so  fkr  kept  us  free  and  firm,  on  the 
theoretic  and  visionary  fear  that  this  Government,  the  world's  best 
hope,  may,  by  possibility,  want  energy  to  preserve  itself?  I  trust 
not.  I  believe  this,  on  the  contrary,  the  strongest  Government  on 
earth.  I  believe  it  the  only  one  where  every  man,  at  the  call 
of  the  law,  would  fly  to  the  standard  of  the  law,  and  would  meet 
invasions  of  the  public  order,  as  his  own  personal  concern.  Some- 
times it  is  said  that  man  cannot  be  trusted  with  the  government  of 
himself.  Can  he,  then,  be  trusted  with  the  government  of  others  ?  Or 
have  we  found  angels,  in  the  form  of  Kings,  to  govern  him  ?  Let 
history  answer  this  question. 

Let  us,  then,  with  courage  and  confidence,  pursue  our  own  Federal 
and  Kepublican  principles  —  our  attachment  to  Union  and  represent- 
ative Government.  K'ndly  separated,  by  nature  and  a  wide  ocean, 
from  the  exterminating  havoc  of  one  quarter  of  the  globe,  —  too  high- 
minded  to  endure  the  degradations  of  the  others,  —  possessing  a  chosen 
country,  with  room  enough  for  our  descendants  to  the  thousandth  and 
thousandth  generation,  —  entertaining  a  due  sense  of  our  equal  right 
to  the  use  of  our  own  faculties,  to  the  acquisitions  of  our  own 
industry,  to  honor  and  confidence  from  our  fellow-citizens,  result- 
ing not  from  birth,  but  from  our  actions,  and  their  sense  of  them,  — 
enlightened  by  a  benign  religion,  professed,  indeed,  and  practised  in 
various  forms,  yet  all  of  them  inculcating  honesty,  truth,  temperance, 
gratitude,  and  the  love  of  man,  —  acknowledging  and  adoring  an 
overruling  Providence,  which,  by  all  its  dispensations,  proves  that  i1 
delights  in  the  happiness  of  man  here,  and  his  greater  happiness  here- 
after :  with  all  these  blessings,  what  more  is  necessary,  to  make  us  a 
happy  and  prosperous  People  ? 

Still  one  thing  more,  fellow -citizens  :  a  wise  and  frugal  Govern- 
ment, which  shall  restrain  men  from  injuring  one  another,  shall  leave 
them  otherwise  free  to  regulate  their  own  pursuits  of  industry  and 
improvement,  and  shall  not  take  from  the  mouth  of  labor  the  bread 
it  has  earned.  This  is  the  sum  of  good  government ;  and  this  i» 
accessary  to  close  the  circle  of  our  felicities. 

U6    JUDGES  SHOULD  BE  FREE,  1S02.— James  A.  Bayard.    Born,  1161  ;  diei,  1814 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  no  power  is  so  sensibly  felt  by  society 
%s  ♦-hat  of  the  Judiciary.    The  life  and  property  of  every  man  if 


SENATORIAL.  —  MORRIS. 


m 


Aable  to  be  m  the  hands  of  the  Judges.  Is  it  not  bur  grea  iiitfircst 
£o  place  our  Judges  upon  such  high  ground  that  no  fear  can  intimi 
iate,  no  hope  seduce  them  ?  The  present  measure  humbles  them  m 
the  dust  It  prostrates  them  at  the  feet  of  faction.  It  renders  thenj 
the  tool  of  every  dominant  party.  It  is  this  effect  which  I  deprecate, 
It  is  this  consequence  which  I  deeply  deplore.  What  does  reason, 
what  docs  argument  avail,  when  party  spirit  presides  ?  Subject  your 
Bench  to  the  influence  of  this  spirit,  and  justice  bids  a  final  adieu  to 
your  tribunals.  We  are  asked,  Sir,  if  the  Judges  are  to  be  inde- 
pendent  of  the  People  ?  The  question  presents  a  false  and  delusive 
view.  We  are  all  the  People.  We  are,  and  as  long  as  we  enjoy  our 
freedom,  we  shall  he,  divided  into  parties.  The  true  question  is. 
Shall  the  J  udiciary  be  permanent,  or  fluctuate  with  the  tide  of  public 
opinion  ?  I  beg,  I  implore  gentlemen  to  consider  the  magnitude  and 
value  of  the  principle  which  they  are  about  to  annihilate.  If  your 
Judges  are  independent  of  political  changes,  they  may  have  their 
preferences,  but  they  will  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  party.  But,  let 
their  existence  depend  upon  the  support  of  a  certain  set  of  men,  anc 
they  cannot  be  impartial.  Justice  will  be  trodden  under  foot.  You 
Courts  will  lose  all  public  confidence  and  respect. 

We  are  standing  on  the  brink  of  that  revolutionary  torrent  whicl 
deluged  in  blood  one  of  the  fairest  countries  in  Europe.  France  had 
ker  National  Assembly,  more  numerous  and  equally  popular  with  our 
mn.  She  had  her  tribunals  of  justice,  and  her  juries.  But  the 
Legislature  and  her  Courts  were  but  the  instruments  of  her  destruc- 
cion.  Acts  of  proscription,  and  sentences  of  banishment  and  death, 
were  passed  in  the  Cabinet  of  a  tyrant.  Prostrate  your  Judges  a,t 
the  feet  of  party,  and  you  break  down  the  mounds  which  defend  you 
from  this  torrent !   Are  gentlemen  disposed  to  risk  the  consequences  ? 


146.  ON  THE  JUDICIARY  ACT,  1802.  —  Gouverneur  Morris. 

ts?^'^^T^^'^  Morrisania,  New  York,  January  31st,  1752,  died  November  6tb, 

1818  He  was  a  Delegate  to  the  Continental  Congress  from  New  York,  and  subsequently  reJ 
resented  that  State  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  before  which  body  the  following  speech^ 
were  delivered.  He  was,  for  some  time,  minister  from  the  United  States  to  France,  and  during 
bis  residence  in  Europe  formed  the  acquaintance  of  many  historical  personages,  concerning 
Whom  he  has  given  mteresting  facts,  in  his  published  diary  and  letters. 

What  will  be  the  situation  of  these  States,  organized  as  they  now 
are.  if,  by  the  dissolution  of  our  national  compact,  they  be  left  to 
themselves  ?  What  is  the  probable  result  ?  We  shall  either  be  tho 
fictims  of  foreign  intrigue,  and,  split  into  factions,  fall  under  the 
domination  of  a  foreign  power,  or  else,  after  the  misery  and  torment 
of  a  civil  war,  become  the  subjects:  of  an  usurping  military  despot. 
What  but  this  compact,  what  but  this  specific  part  of  it,  can  save  us 
from  ruin  ?  The  judicial  power,  that  fortress  of  the  Constitution,  ia 
now  to  be  overturned.  With  honest  Ajax,  I  would  not  only  throw  a 
shield  before  it,  —  I  would  build  around  it  a  wall  of  brass.  But  I  anj 
too  weak  to  defend  *he  rampart  against  the  host  of  assaQants.  \ 


300 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEB 


must  call  to  my  assistance  their  good  sense,  their  patriotism  and  iheij 
virtue.  Do  not,  Gentlemen,  suffer  the  rage  of  passion  to  drive  reasoii 
from  her  seat !  If  this  law  be  indeed  bad,  let  us  join  to  remedy  the 
defects.  Has  it  been  passed  in  a  manner  which  wounded  your  prida 
or  roufed  your  resentment  ?  Have,  I  conjure  you,  the  magnanimity 
to  pardon  that  offence  I  I  entreat,  I  implore  you,  to  sacrifice  those 
angry  passions  to  the  interests  of  our  country.  Pour  out  this  pride 
of  "opinion  on  the  altar  of  patriotism.  Let  it  be  an  expiating  liba,' 
tion  for  the  weal  of  America.  Do  not,  for  God's  sake,  do  not  suffer 
i^liat  pride  to  plunge  us  all  into  the  abyss  of  ruin ! 

Indeed,  indeed,  it  will  be  but  of  little,  very  little,  avail,  whether 
me  opinion  or  the  other  be  right  or  wrong  ;  it  will  heal  no  wounds,  it 
will  pay  no  debts,  it  will  rebuild  no  ravaged  towns.  Do  not  rely  on 
that  popular  will  which  has  brought  as  frail  beings  into  political  exist- 
ence. That  opinion  is  but  a  changeable  thing.  It  will  soon  change. 
This  very  measure  will  change  it.  You  will  be  deceived.  Do  not,  I 
beseech  you,  in  a  reliance  on  a  foundation  so  frail,  commit  the  dignity 
the  harmony,  the  existence  of  our  Nation,  to  the  wild  wind  !  Trust 
not  your  treasure  to  the  waves.  Throw  not  your  compass  and  your 
charts  into  the  ocean.  Do  not  believe  that  its  billows  will  waft  you 
into  port.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  will  be  deceived !  Cast  not  away  this 
only  anchor  of  our  safety.  I  have  seen  its  progress.  I  know  the 
difficulties  through  which  it  was  obtained :  I  stand  in  the  presence  of 
Almighty  God,  and  of  the  world ;  and  I  declare  to  you,  that,  if  you 
lose  this  charter,  never,  —  no,  never  will  you  get  another  !  V/ e  are 
now,  perhaps,  arrived  at  the  parting  point.  Here,  even  here,  we 
stand  on  the  brink  of  fate.  Pause  —  pause!  —  for  Heaven's  sake, 
pause ! 


147.    FREE  NAVIGATION  OF  THE  MISSISSIPPI,  1803.  —  Gouverneur  Morns. 

Sir,  I  wish  for  peace ;  I  wish  the  negotiation  may  succeed ;  and, 
therefore,  I  strongly  urge  you  to  adopt  these  resolutions.  But,  though 
you  should  adopt  tiiem,  they  alone  will  not  insure  success.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  you  ought  to  have  taken  possession  of  New 
Orleans  and  the  Floridas,  the  instant  your  treaty  was  violated.  You 
ought  to  do  it  now.  Your  rights  are  invaded :  confidence  in  negotia- 
tion is  vain  ;  there  is,  therefore,  no  alternative  but  force.  You  are 
exposed  to  imminent  present  danger  :  you  have  the  prospect  of  great 
future  advantage :  you  are  justified  by  the  clearest  principles  of  right : 
you  are  urged  by  the  strongest  motives  of  policy :  you  are  commanded 
by  every  sentiment  of  national  dignity.  Look  at  the  conduct  of  Amer- 
ica in  her  infant  years.  When  there  was  no  actual  invasion  of  right, 
but  only  a  claim  to  invade,  she  resisted  the  claim,  she  spurned  the 
insult.  Did  we  then  hesitate  ?  Did  we  then  wait  for  foreign  alliance  1 
—  animated  with  the  spirit,  warmed  with  the  soul  of  freedom,  we 
threw  oui-  oaths  of  allegiance  in  the  face  of  our  sovereign,  and  com- 
mittod  our  fortunes  and  our  fate  to  *he  God  of  battles.   Wo  then  wert 


SENATORIi  L.  —  CLINTON. 


lubjecis.  We  had  not  then  attained  to  the  dignity  of  an  independent 
Republio.  We  then  had  no  rank  among  the  Nations  of  the  earth, 
Bat  we  had  the  spirit  which  deserved  that  elevated  station.  And,  now 
that  we  havo  gained  it,  shall  we  fall  from  our  honor  ? 

Sir,  I  repeat  to  you,  that  I  wish  for  peace,  —  real,  lasting,  honorable 
peace.  To  obtain  and  secure  this  blessing,  let  us,  by  a  bold  and  deci- 
sive conduct,  convince  the  Powers  of  Europe  that  we  are  determined 
to  defend  our  rights, —  that  we  will  not  submit  to  insult,  that  we  will 
not  bear  degradation.  This  is  the  conduct  which  becomes  a  generous 
People.  This  conduct  will  command  the  respect  of  the  world.  Nay, 
Sir,  it  may  rouse  all  Europe  to  a  proper  sense  of  their  situation. 


148.  AGAINST  FOREIGN  CONQUEST.  —  £»e  mtt  Clinton.  Born,  1769  ;  died,  1828. 
In  1802,  De  Witt  Clinton  was  elected  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  from  New  York  In 
the  month  of  February,  1803,  a  debate  arose  in  that  body  on  certain  resolutions  authorizing  the 
I  resident  to  talie  immediate  possession  of  New  Orleans,  and  empowering  him  to  call  out  thirty 
thousand  militia  to  effect  that  object.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  Clhitou's  speech  on  the 
occasion. 

If  I  were  called  upon  to  prescribe  a  course  of  policy  most  important 
for  this  country  to  pursue,  it  would  be  to  avoid  European  connections 
and  wars.  The  time  must  arrive  when  we  will  have  to  contend  with 
Bome  of  the  great  powers  of  Europe ;  but  let  that  period  be  put  oflf  as 
long  as  possible.  It  is  our  interest  and  our  duty  to  cultivate  peace, 
y'^^th  sincerity  and  good  faith.  As  a  young  Nation,  pursuing  industry 
in  every  channel,  and  adventuring  commerce  in  every  sea,  it  is  highly 
important  that  we  should  not  only  have  a  pacific  character,  but  that 
we  should  really  deserve  it.  If  wo  manifest  an  unwarrantable  ambi- 
tion, and  a  rage  for  conquest,  we  vuiite  all  the  great  powers  of  Europe 
against  us.  The  security  of  all  the  European  possessions  in  our  vicin- 
ity will  eternally  depend,  not  upon  tiieir  strength,  but  upon  our  mod- 
eration and  justice.  Look  at  the  Canadas  ;  at  the  Spanish  territories 
to  the  South;  at  the  British,  Spanish,  French,  Danish  and  Dutch 
West  India  Islands  ;  at  the  vast  countries  to  the  West,  as  far  as  where 
the  Pacific  rolls  its  waves.  Consider  well  the  eventful  consequences 
that  would  result,  if  we  were  possessed  by  a  spirit  of  conquest.  Oon- 
Bider  well  the  impression  which  a  manifestation  of  that  spirit  will  make 
upon  those  who  would  be  affected  by  it. 

^If  we  are  to  rush  at  once  into  the  territory  of  a  neighboring  Nation, 
with  fire  and  sword,  for  the  misconduct  of  a  subordinate  officer,  will 
QOt  our  national  character  be  greatly  injured  ?  Will  we  not  be  ckssed 
with  the  robbers  and  destroyers  of  mankind  ?  Will  not  the  Nations 
of  Europe  perceive  in  this  conduct  the  germ  of  a  lofty  spirit,  and  an 
enterpri3ing  ambition,  which  will  level  them  to  the  earth,  when  age 
has  matured  our  strength,  and  expanded  our  powers  of  annojance. 
unless  they  combine  to  cripple  us  in  our  infancy  ?  May  not  the  con- 
sequences be,  that  we  must  look  out  for  a  naval  force  to  protect  oui 
commerce  ?  that  a  close  alliance  will  result  ?  that  we  will  be  thrown 
ftt  on  36  into  the  ocean  of  European  politics,  where  every  wave  that 
rolls  and  every  wind  that  blows,  will  agitate  our  bark  ?    Is  this  a 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


iesirable  state  of  things?  Will  the  People  of  this  country  be  Beduoe<i 
fnto  it  by  all  the  colorings  of  rhetoric,  and  all  the  arts  of  sophistry  ;  by 
ceheraent  appeals  to  their  pride,  and  artful  addresses  to  their  cupidity  ? 
tsTo,  Sir  !  Three-fourths  of  the  American  People  —  I  assert  it  boldly; 
k'^d  without  fear  of  contradiction  —  are  opposed  to  this  measure '  And 
R^ould  you  take  up  arms  with  a  mill-stone  hanging  round  youi 
ticck  ?  How  would  you  bear  up,  not  only  against  the  force  of  the 
3nemy,  but  against  the  irresistible  current  of  public  opinion  ?  The 
fhing.  Sir,  is  impossible;  the  measure  is  worse  than  madness  it  is 
«7icked  beyond  the  powers  of  description  ! 


149.    AMERICAN  INNOVATIONS.— James  Mat/ison.    Bom  1751  ;  dfed,  1836 

James  Madison,  who  served  two  terms  as  President  of  the  United  States,  was  a  Virginian  by 
fcirth.    As  a  writer  and  a  statesman,  he  stands  among  the  first  of  his  times. 

Why  is  the  experiment  of  an  extended  Republic  to  be  rejected, 
merely  because  it  may  comprise  what  is  new  ?  Is  it  not  the  glory  of  the 
People  of  America,  that  whilst  they  have  paid  a  decent  regard  to  the 
opinions  of  former  times  and  other  Nations,  they  have  not  suffered  a 
blind  veneration  for  antiquity,  for  custom,  or  for  names,  to  overrule  the 
suggestions  of  their  own  good  sense,  the  knowledge  of  their  own  situa 
tion,  and  the  lesson  of  their  own  experience  ?  To  this  manly  spirit, 
posterity  will  be  indebted  for  the  possession,  and  the  world  for  the 
example,  of  the  numerous  innovations  displayed  on  the  American  the- 
atre, in  favor  of  private  rights  and  public  happiness.  Had  no  import 
aiit  step  been  taken  by  the  leaders  of  the  Revolution,  for  which  a 
precedent  could  not  be  discovered,  —  no  Government  established,  of 
which  an  exact  model  did  not  present  itself,  —  the  People  of  the  United 
States  might,  at  this  moment,  have  been  numbered  among  the  melan- 
choly victims  of  misguided  councils  ;  must,  at  best,  have  been  laboring 
under  the  weight  of  some  of  those  forms  which  have  crushed  the  liber- 
ties of  the  rest  of  mankind.  Happily  for  America,  —  happily,  we  trust, 
for  the  whole  human  race,  —  they  pursued  a  new  and  more  noble 
course.  They  accomplished  a  Revolution  which  has  no  parallel  in  the 
annals  of  human  society.  They  reared  the  fabric  of  Governments 
which  have  no  model  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  They  formed  the  design 
of  a  great  confederacy,  which  it  is  incumbent  on  their  successors  to 
improve  and  perpetuate.  If  their  works  betray  imperfections,  we 
wonder  at  the  fewness  of  them.  If  they  erred  most  in  the  structure 
of  the  Union,  this  was  the  most  difficult  to  be  executed ;  this  is  Ihe 
,PorV  which  has  been  new-modelled  by  the  act  of  your  Conventioii,  and 
it  is  that  act  on  which  you  are  now  to  deliberate  and  to  decide, 


150.  INTEMPERANCE  OF  PARTY,  1815.  —  W^m.  Gaston.    Born,  1118]  rff€<i.  1844. 

Intemperance  of  party,  wherever  found,  never  will  meet  with  an 
tavocate  in  me.  It  is  a  most  calamitous  scourge  to  our  country ;  the 
MriQ  of  social  enjoyment,  of  individual  justice,  and  of  public  virtue  ; 
unfriendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  man,  his  interest  and  his  duty.  Seek 
w  uphold  your  measures  by  the  force  of  argument  not  cf  ienujicia^ 


SENATORIAL  —  UUINCY, 


lion.  Stigmatize  nDt  opposition  to  your  notions  w.th  oiFensive  epithets. 
Th^e  prove  nothing  but  your  anger  or  your  weakness;  and  they  are 
sure  to  generate  9  spirit  of  moral  resistance,  not  easily  to  be  checked  or 
lamed.  Give  to  Presidential  views  Constitutional  respect ;  but  suffei 
them  not  to  supersede  the  exercise  of  independent  inquiry.  Encour- 
age instead  of  suppressing  fair  discussion,  so  that  those  who  approve 
not  may  at  least  have  a  respectful  hearing.  Thus,  without  derogating 
a  particle  from  the  energy  of  your  measures,  you  will  impart  a  tone 
to  political  dissensions  which  will  deprive  them  of  their  acrimonj,  and 
render  them  harmless  to  the  Nation. 

The  nominal  party  distinctions,  Sir,  have  become  mere  cabalistic 
terms.  It  is  no  longer  a  question  whether,  according  to  the  theory  of 
our  Constitution,  there  is  more  danger  of  the  Federal  encroaching  on 
the  State  Governments,  or  the  Democracy  of  the  State  Governments 
paralyzing  the  arm  of  Federal  power.  Federalism  and  Democracy 
have  lost  their  meaning.  It  is  now  a  question  of  commerce,  peace 
and  Union  of  the  States.  On  this  question,  unless  the  honesty  and 
intelligence  of  the  Nation  shall  confederate  into  one  great  American 
party,  disdaining  petty  office-keeping  and  office-hunting  views,  defying 
alike  the  insolence  of  party  prints,  the  prejudices  of  faction,  and  the 
dominion  of  Executive  influence,  I  fear  a  decision  will  be  pronounced 
fatal  to  the  hopes,  fatal  to  the  existence,  of  the  Nation. 


151.  AGAINST  THE  EMBARGO,  1808.  -Josiah  quincy 

I  ASK,  in  what  page  of  the  Constitution  you  find  the  power  of  lay- 
ing an  embargo.  Directly  given,  it  is  nowhere.  Never  before  did 
society  witness  a  total  prohibition  of  all  intercourse  like  this,  in  a  com- 
mercial Nation.  But  it  has  been  asked  in  debate,  "  Will  not  Massa- 
chusetts, the  cradle  of  liberty,  submit  to  such  privations  ? "  An 
embargo  liberty  was  never  cradled  in  Massachusetts.  Our  liberty  was 
not  so  much  a  mountain  nymph  as  a  sea  nymph.  She  was  free  as  air. 
She  could  swim,  or  she  could  run.  The  ocean  was  her  cradle.  Our 
fathers  met  her  as  she  came,  like  the  goddess  of  beauty,  from  the 
wa  res.  They  caught  her  as  she  was  sporting  on  the  beach.  They 
courted  her  while  she  was  spreading  her  nets  upon  the  rocks.  But  an 
embargo  liberty,  a  hand-cuffed  liberty,  liberty  in  fetters,  a  liberty 
traversing  between  the  four  sides  of  a  prison  and  beating  her  heaa 
against  the  walls,  is  none  of  our  offspring.  We  abjure  the  monster  ! 
Its  parentage  is  all  inland. 

Ib  embargo  independence  ?  Deceive  not  yourselves  !  It  is  palpable 
submission  !  Gentlemen  exclaim,  "  Great  Britain  smites  us  on  ona 
chof  k  ! "  And  what  does  Administration  ?  "  It  turns  the  other,  also.* 
Gentlemen  say,  "  Great  Britain  is  a  robber;  she  takes  our  cloak."  And 
what  says  Administration  ?  "  Let  her  take  our  coat,  also."  France  and 
Great  Britain  require  you  to  relinquish  a  part  of  your  commerce;  and 
you  yield  it  entirely !  At  every  corner  of  this  great  city  we  meet 
some  gentkmen  of  the  majority  wringing  their  hands,  and  exclaimiog 


801 


THE  STi-^DARlJ  SPEAKER. 


Wliat  shall  we  do  ?  Nothing  but  an  embargo  will  save  us.  Remove  i4 
and  ^hat  shall  we  do  ?  "  Sir,  it  is  not  for  me,  an  humble  and  uninflu 
ential  individual,  at  an  awful  distance  from  the  predominant  infiuencea 
io  suggest  plans  of  Government.  But,  to  my  eye,  the  path  of  our  dut\ 
is  as  distinct  as  the  Milky  Way,  —  all  studded  with  living  sapphires, 
glowing  with  cumulating  light.  It  is  the  path  of  active  preparation  ; 
of  dignified  energy  It  is  the  path  of  1776  !  It  consists  not  in 
abandoning  our  rights,  but  in  supporting  them,  as  they  exist,  and 
where  they  exist,  —  on  the  ocean  as  well  as  on  the  land.  But  I  shall 
be  told,  "  This  may  lead  to  war."  I  ask,  "  Are  we  now  at  peace  ?" 
Certainly  not,  unless  retiring  from  insult  be  peace ;  unless  shrinking 
under  the  lash  be  peace  !  The  surest  way  to  prevent  war  is  not  to  fear 
it.  The  idea  that  nothing  on  earth  is  so  dreadful  as  war  is  inculcated 
tfX)  studiously  among  us.  Disgrace  is  worse !  Abandonment  of  essen- 
tial rights  is  worse ! 


152.  PREDICTIONS  OF  DISUNION,  1820.  —  Wm.  Pinkney.    Born,  1765  ;  died,  1822 

Sir,  the  People  of  the  United  States,  if  I  do  not  wholly  mistake 
their  character,  are  wise  as  well  as  virtuous.  They  know  the  value 
of  that  Federal  association  which  is  to  them  the  single  pledge  and 
guarantee  of  power  and  peace.  Their  warm  and  pious  affections  will 
cling  to  it,  as  to  their  only  hope  of  prosperity  and  happiness,  in  defi- 
ance of  pernicious  abstractions,  by  whomsoever  inculcated,  or  howso- 
ever seductive  and  alluring  in  their  aspx3ct.  Sir,  it  is  not  an  occasion 
l^ke  this,  —  although  connected,  as,  contrary  to  all  reasonable  expec*« 
ation,  it  has  been,  with  fearful  and  disorganizing  theories,  whict 
would  make  our  estimates,  whether  fanciful  or  sound,  of  natural  law 
the  measure  of  civil  rights  and  political  sovereignty  in  the  social  state, 
—  it  is  not,  I  say,  an  occasion  like  this,  that  can  harm  the  Union.  I^ 
must,  indeed,  be  a  mighty  storm  that  can  push  from  its  moorings  this 
eacred  ark  of  the  common  safety.  It  is  not  every  trifling  breeze,  how- 
Bver  it  may  be  made  to  sob  and  howl  in  imitation  of  the  tempest,  by 
the  auxiliary  breath  of  the  ambitious,  the  timid,  or  the  discontented, 
that  can  drive  this  gallant  vessel,  freighted  with  everything  that  is 
dear  to  an  American  bosom,  upon  the  rocks,  or  lay  it  a  sheer  hulk 
npon  the  ocean. 

I  may,  perhaps,  mistake  the  flattering  suggestions  of  hope  (the  great- 
est  of  all  flatterers,  as  we  are  told)  for  the  conclusions  of  sober  reason, 
Yet  it  is  a  pleasing  error,  if  it  be  an  error,  and  no  man  shall  take  it 
from  me.  I  will  continue  to  cherish  the  belief,  —  ay.  Sir,  in  defiance 
of  the  public  patronage  given  to  deadly  speculations,  which,  invoking 
ihe  name  of  Deity  to  aid  their  faculties  for  mischief,  strike  at  ciu 
astablishmcnts,  —  I  will  continue  to  cherish  the  belief  that  the  Union 
of  those  States  is  formed  to  bear  up  against  far  greater  shocks  than, 
through  all  vicissitudes,  it  is  ever  likely  to  encounter.  I  will  continue 
t»  cherish  the  belief  that,  although,  like  all  other  human  mstitutions 
^  may  'or  a  season  be  disturbed,  or  suffer  momentary  eclipse  by  thi 


SENATORIAL.  —  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 


30^ 


er^nsh  across  its  disk  of  some  malignant  planet,  it  possesses  a  recuper 
ative  force,  a  redeeming  energy,  in  the  hearts  of  the  People,  that  wil) 
ioon  restore  it  to  its  wonted  calm,  and  give  it  back  its  accustomed 
splendor.  On  such  a  subject  I  will  discard  all  hysterical  apprehen- 
sions ;  I  will  deal  in  no  sinister  auguries ;  I  will  indulge  in  no  hypo- 
chondriacal forebodings.  I  will  look  forward  to  the  future  with  gaj 
and  cheerful  hope,  and  will  make  the  prospect  smile,  in  fancy  at  least 
until  overwhelming  reality  shall  render  it  no  longer  possible. 


153.  BRITISH  INFLUENCE,  ISn. -/oAn  Randolph.    Born,  1773;  died,  1833. 

John  Randolph,  an  eccentric  Statesman,  but  a  man  of  marked  talents,  was  a  Virginian  by 
birth  and  a  descendant,  m  the  seventh  generation,  from  the  celebrated  Pocahontas,  the  dau-h- 
cer  of  Powhatan,  a  great  Indian  chief.  '  ° 

Imputations  of  British  influence  have  been  uttered  against  the 
opponents  of  this  war.  Against  whom  are  these  charg8s°brouo-ht  ? 
Against  men  who,  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  were  in  the  Councirs  of 
the  Nation,  or  fighting  the  battles  of  your  country  !  And  by  whom  are 
these  charges  made  ?  By  runaways,  chiefly  from  the  British  dominions, 
since  the  breakmg  out  of  the  French  troubles.  The  great  autocrat  of 
all  the  Russias  receives  the  homage  of  our  high  consideration.  Tho 
Dey  of  Algiers  and  his  divan  of  Pirates  are  very  civil,  good  sort  of  peo- 
ple, with  whom  we  find  no  difficulty  in  maintaining  the  relations  of  peace 
and  amity.  "Turks,  Jews  and  Infidels,"  —  Melimelli  or  the  Little 
lurtle,  —  barbarians  and  savages  of  every  clime  and  color,  are  welcome 
to  our  arms.  With  chiefs  of  banditti,  negro  or  mulatto,  we  can  treat 
and  can  trade.  Name,  however,  but  England,  and  all  our  antipathies 
are  up  ni  arms  against  her.  Against  whom  ?  Against  those  whose 
blood  runs  in  our  veins ;  in  common  with  whom  we  claim  Shakspeare, 
and  Newton,  and  Chatham,  for  our  countrymen  ;  whose  form  of  govern- 
ment  is  the  freest  on  earth,  our  own  only  excepted ;  from  whom  every 
valuable  principle  of  our  own  institutions  has  been  borrowed,  -  repre- 
sentation, jury  trial,  voting  the  supplies,  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  our 
whole  civil  and  criminal  jurisprudence  ;  —  against  our  fellow  Protest- 
ants,  identified  in  blood,  in  language,  in  religion,  with  ourselves. 

In  what  school  did  the  worthies  of  our  land  — the  Washino-tons 
Henrys,  Hancocks,  Franklins,  liutledges,  of  America— learn  those'^prin^ 
ciples  of  civil  liberty  which  were  so  nobly  asserted  by  their  wisdom  and 
valor  ?  American  resistance  to  British  usurpation  has  not  been  more 
?^armly  cherished  by  these  great  men  and  their  compatriots,  —  not  more 
by  Washington,  Hancock  and  Henry,  —  than  by  Chatham,  and  his  illus- 
truTis  associates  in  the  British  Parliament.  It  ought  to  be  remen-bered, 
too,  that  the  heart  of  the  English  people  was  with  us.  It  was  a  selfish 
and  corrupt  Ministry,  and  their  servile  tools,  to  whom  we  were  not 
more  opposed  than  tke^/  were.  I  trust  that  none  f=uch  may  ever  exist 
among  us  ;  for  tools  will  never  be  wanting  to  subserve  the  purposes 
however  ruinous  or  wicked,  of  kings  and  ministers  of  state.  I  ac- 
knowledge the  influence  of  a  Shakspeare  and  a  Milton  apon  my  im 
20 


S06 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


agination ;  of  a  J^ocke,  upon  my  understanding ;  of  a  Sidney,  upDii 
my  political  principles ;  of  a  Chatham,  upon  qualities  which  would  to 
G-od  I  possessed  in  common  with  that  illustrious  man  !  of  a  Tillotson  a 
Sherlock,  and  a  Porteus,  upon  my  religion.  This  is  a  British  indueni.e 
which  I  can  never  shake  off. 


154.    ON  THE  GREEK  QTs  ESTION,  1824  — /ii. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  prettiest  themes  for  declamation  ever  presented 
to  a  deliberative  assembly  is  this  proposition  in  behalf  of  Greece.  But; 
Sir,  I  look  at  the  measure  as  one  fraught  with  deep  and  deadly  dange? 
to  the  best  interests  of  the  American  People,  Liberty  and  religion 
are  objects  as  dear  to  wy  heart  as  to  that  of  any  gentleman  in  this  or 
any  other  assembly.  But,  in  the  name  of  these  holy  words,  by  this 
powerful  spell,  is  this  Nation  to  be  conjured  and  persuaded  out  of  the 
highway  of  Heaven,  —  out  of  its  present  comparatively  happy  state, 
into  all  the  disastrous  conflicts  arising  from  the  policy  of  European 
powers,  with  all  the  consequences  which  flow  from  them  ? 

Sir,  I  am  afraid  that  along  with  some  most  excellent  attributes  and 
qualities,  —  the  love  of  liberty,  jury  trial,  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus, 
and  all  the  blessings  of  free  government,  that  we  have  derived  from  our 
Anglo-Saxon  ancestors,  —  we  have  got  not  a  little  of  their  John  Bull, 
or,  rather,  bull-dog  spirit  —  their  readiness  to  fight  for  anybody,  and  on 
any  occasion.  Sir,  England  has  been  for  centuries  the  game-cock  of 
Europe.  It  is  impossible  to  specify  the  wars  in  which  she  has  been 
engaged  for  contrary  purposes ;  —  and  she  will,  with  great  pleasure,  see 
us  take  off  her  shoulders  the  labor  of  preserving  the  balance  of  power. 
We  find  her  fighting  now  for  the  Queen  of  Hungary,  —  then,  for  her 
inveterate  foe,  the  King  of  Prussia  ;  now  at  war  for  the  restoration 
of  the  Bourbons,  —  and  now  on  the  eve  of  war  with  them,  for  the 
iliberties  of  Spain.  These  lines  on  the  subject  were  never  more  appli 
cable  than  they  have  now  become  : 

"  Now  Europe 's  balanced  —  neither  side  prevails 
For  nothing 's  left  in  either  of  the  scales. " 

If  we  pursue  the  same  policy,  we  must  travel  the  same  road  and 
enduie  the  same  burdens  under  which  England  now  groans.  But, 
glorious  as  such  a  design  might  be,  a  President  of  the  United  States 
would,  in  my  apprehension,  occupy  a  prouder  place  in  history,  who,  when 
•he  retires  from  office,  can  say  to  the  People  who  elected  him,  I  leave  you 
without  a  debt  than  if  'le  had  fought  as  many  pitched  battles  as  Ciesar, 
or  achieved  as  many  naval  victories  as  Nelson.  And  what.  Sir,  is  debt? 
In  an  individua.,  it  is  slavery.  It  is  slavery  of  the  worst  sort,  surpass- 
ing that  of  the  West  India  Islands,  —  for  it  enslaves  the  mind  as  well 
fts  it  enslaves  the  body  ;  and  the  creature  who  can  be  abject  enough  to 
incur  and  to  submit  to  it  receives  in  that  condition  of  his  being  an 
adequate  punishment.  Of  course,  I  speak  of  debt,  with  the  exception 
of  unavoidable  misfortune.  I  speak  of  debt  caused  by  mismanagement, 
0}  unwarrantiibk  generosity,  by  being  generous  before  being  just  1 


SENATORIAL.  JOHN  RANDOLPH. 


307 


tnow  tha*  thh  isentiment  \ms  ridiculed  by  Sheridan,  whose  lameiiiabie 
end  was  t\ie  best  commentary  upon  its  truth.  No,  Sir :  let  us  abandon 
these  projects.  Let  us  say  to  these  seven  millions  of  Greeks,  "  We 
defeaded  ourselves,  when  we  were  but  three  millions,  against  a  power, 
in  comparison  to  which  the  Turk  is  but  as  a  lamb.  Go,  and  dc  thou 
likewise." 


15f.    ON  ALTERING  THE  VIRGINIA  CONSTITUTION,  1829.— JoAn  Randolph. 

Sir,  T  see  no  wisdom  in  making  this  provision  for  future  changes.. 
\  :u  must  give  Governments  time  to  operate  on  the  I^eople,  and  give 
the  People  time  to  bewme  gradually  assimilated  to  their  institutions. 
Almost  anything  is  belter  than  this  state  of  perpetual  uncertainty.  A 
People  may  have  the  best  form  of  Government  that  the  wit  of  man 
ever  devised,  and  yet,  from  its  uncertainty  alone,  may,  in  effect,  live 
under  the  worst  Gov(;rnment  in  the  world.  Sir,  how  often  must  1 
repeat,  that  change  is  not  reform  ?  I  am  willing  that  this  new  Con- 
stitution shall  stand  as  long  as  it  is  possible  for  it  to  stand ;  and  that, 
believe  me,  is  a  very  short  time.  Sir,  it  is  vain  to  deny  it.  They 
may  say  what  they  please  about  the  old  Constitution,  —  the  defect  is 
not^  there.  It  is  not  in  the  form  of  the  old  edifice,  —  neither  in  the 
design  nor  the  elevation ;  it  is  in  the  material  —  it  is  in  the  People 
of  Virginia.  To  my  Jinowledge,  that  People  are  changed  from  what 
they  have  been.  The  four  hundred  men  who  went  out  to  David  wert 
in  deht.  ^  The  partisans  of  Caesar  were  in  deht.  The  fellow-laborers 
of  Catiline  were  in  deht.  And  I  defy  you  to  show  me  a  desperately 
indebted  People,  anywhere,  who  can  bear  a  regular,  sober  Government. 
I  throw  the  challenge  to  all  who  hear  me.  T  say  that  the  .character 
of  the  good  old  A^irginia  planter  —  the  man  who  owned  from  jSve  to 
twenty  slaves,  or  less,  who  lived  by  hard  work,  and  who  paid  his 
debts  —  is  passed  away.  A  new  order  of  things  is  come.  The  period 
has  arrived  of  liwng  by  one's  wits;  of  living  by  contracting  debts 
that  one  cannot  pay;  and,  above  all,  of  living  by  office-hunting. 

Sir,  what  do  we  see  ?  Bankrupts  —  branded  bankrupts  —  givin<r 
great  dinners,  sending  their  children  to  the  most  expensive  school 
giving  grand  parties,  and  just  as  well  received  as  anybody  in  society ! 
I  say  that,  i-n  such  a  state  of  things,  the  old  Constitution  was  too 
good  for  them,  —  they  could  not  bear  it.  No,  Sir ;  they  could  not 
bear  a  freehold  suffrage,  and  a  property  representation.  I  have  always 
endeavored  to  do  the  People  justice ;  but  I  will  not  flatter  theu,  —  \ 
will  not  pander  to  their  appetite  for  change.  I  will  do  nothing  to 
provide  for  change.  I  will  not  agree  to  any  rule  of  future  apportion- 
men'.,  or  to  any  provision  for  future  changes,  called  amendments  to  tho 
Constitution.  Those  who  love  change  —  who  delight  in  public  con- 
Posion  --  who  wish  to  feed  the  cauldron,  and  make  it  bubble  —  mav 
vote,  if  they  please,  for  future  changes.  But  by  what  spell,  bv 
jrnat  formula,  are  you  going  to  bind  the  People  to  all  future  tiine'f 
The  days  of  Lycurg-is  are  gone  by,  when  we  coTjld  swear  the  People 


308 


THE  STANDARD  BPEAKER. 


not  to  alfcei  tho  Constitution  until  he  should  return.  Yom  may  ruakt 
what  entries  on  parchment  you  please;  —  give  me  a  Constitution  that 
will  last  for  half  a  century ;  that  is  all  I  wish  for.  No  Constitution 
that  you  can  make  will  last  the  one-half  of  half  a  century.  Sir,  I  will 
stake  anything,  short  of  my  salvation,  that  those  who  are  malecontent 
now  will  be  more  malecontent,  three  years  hence,  than  they  aie  at  this 
day.  I  have  no  favor  for  this  Constitution.  I  shall  vote  against  its 
adoption,  and  I  shall  advise  all  the  people  of  my  district  to  set  their 
faces  —  ay,  and  their  shoulders,  too  —  against  it. 


156.    IN  FAVOR  OF  A  STATE  LAW  AGAINST  DUELLING.-  Compilation 

The  bill  which  has  been  read,  Mr.  Speaker,  claims  the  serious  atteii 
tion  of  this  House.  It  is  one  in  which  every  citizen  is  deeply  inter- 
ested. Do  not,  I  implore  you,  confound  the  sacred  name  of  honor 
with  the  practice  of  duelling,  —  with  that  ferocious  prejudice  which 
attaches  all  the  virtues  to  the  point  of  the  sword,  and  is  only  fitted  to 
make  bad  men  bold.  In  what  does  this  prejudice  consist  ?  In  an 
opinion  the  most  extravagant  and  barbarous  that  ever  took  possession 
of  the  human  mind !  —  in  the  opinion  that  all  the  social  duties  are 
supplied  by  courage ;  that  a  man  is  no  more  a  cheat,  no  more  a 
rascal,  no  more  a  calumniator,  if  he  can  only  fight ;  and  that  steel  and 
gunpowder  are  the  true  diagnostics  of  innocence  and  worth.  And  so 
the  law  of  force  is  made  the  law  of  right ;  murder,  the  criterion  of 
honor  !  To  grant  or  receive  reparation,  one  must  kill  or  be  killed ! 
All  offences  may  be  wiped  out  by  blood !  If  wolves  could  reason, 
would  they  be  governed  by  maxims  more  atrocious  than  these  ? 

But  we  are  told  that  public  opinion  —  the  opinion  of  the  community 
in  which  we  live  —  upholds  the  custom.  And,  Sir,  if  it  were  so,  is 
there  not  more  courage  in  resisting  than  in  following  a  false  publiti 
opinion  ?  The  man  with  a  proper  self-respect  is  little  sensitive  to  tho 
unmerited  contempt  of  others.  The  smile  of  his  own  conscience  in 
more  prized  by  him  than  all  that  the  world  can  give  or  take  away. 
Is  there  any  guilt  to  be  compared  with  that  of  a  voluntary  homicide  ? 
Could  the  dismal  recollection  of  blood  so  shed  cease  ever  to  cry  for  ven- 
geance at  the  bottom  of  the  heart  ?  The  man  who,  with  real  or  alfected 
gayety  and  coolness,  goes  to  a  mortal  encounter  with  a  fellow-being,  is, 
in  my  eyes,  an  object  of  more  horror  than  the  brute  beast  who  strivQi 
to  tear  in  pieces  one  of  his  kind.  True  courage  is  constant,  immuta- 
ble self-poised.  It  does  not  impel  us,  at  one  moment,  to  brave  murder 
and  death ;  and,  the  next,  to  shrink  pusillanimously  from  an  injurioui 
public  opinion.  It  accompanies  the  good  man  everywhere,  —  to  thi 
field  of  danger,  in  his  country's  cause ;  to  the  social  circle,  to  lift  his 
voice  in  behalf  of  truth  or  of  the  absent ;  to  the  pillow  of  disease,  to 
fortify  him  against  the  trials  of  sickness,  and  the  approach  of  death. 
Sir,  if  public  opinion  is  unsound  on  this  subject,  let  us  not  be  partici* 
y&ntjn  in  the  guilt  of  upholding  a  barbarous  custom.  Let  us  affix  tfl 
U  the  brand  of  legislative  rebuke  and  disqualification.    Pass  this  kiU 


SENATCillAL.  J.  Q.  ADAMS. 


309 


md  you.  do  you?  part  in  arresting  it.  Pass  this  bill,  anJ  you  place  a 
shield  between  the  man  who  refuses  a  challenge  and  the  public  opinioo 
fchat  would  disgrace  him.  Pass  this  bill,  and  you  raise  a  barrier  in  the 
road  to  honor  and  preferment,  at  which  the  ambitious  man  will  pause 
and  reflect,  before  engaging  in  a  duel.  As  fathers,  as  brothers,  as 
men,  and  as  legislators,  I  call  on  this  House  to  suppress  an  evil  whkh 
strikes  at  you  in  all  these  relations.  I  call  on  you  to  raise  your  hands 
against  a  crime,  the  disgrace  of  our  land,  and  the  scourge  of  our  peace 


157    THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  —  J.  Q.  Aaams. 

John  Quincy  Adams,  the  sixth  President  of  the  United  States,  and  son  of  John  Adams  the 
second  President,  was  born  at  Quincy,  Massachusetts,  July  11th,  1767.  After  studying  law  he 
entered  political  life,  was  appointed  minister  to  the  Netherlands  by  Washington,  and  filled  manj 
nigh  offices,  till  he  reached  the  highest,  in  1825.  •  He  died  in  the  Capitol,  at  Washington,  while 
a  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  1848.  His  last  words,  as  he  fell  in  a  fit,  from  which 
ne  did  not  recover,  were,  "This  is  the  last  of  earth  !  " 

The  Declaration  of  Independence!  The  interest  which,  in  that 
paper,  has  survived  the  occasion  upon  which  it  was  issued,  —  the  interest 
which  is  of  every  age  and  every  eimie,  —  the  interest  which  quickens 
with  the  lapse  of  years,  spreads  as  it  grows  old,  and  brightens  as  it  re- 
cedes, —  is  in  the  principles  which  it  proclaims.  It  was  the  first  solemn 
declaration  by  a  Nation  of  the  only  legitimate  foundation  of  civil  Gov- 
ernment. It  was  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  fabric,  destined  to  cover 
the  surface  of  the  globe.  It  demolished,  at  a  stroke,  the  lawfulness  of 
all  Governments  founded  upon  conquest.  It  swept  away  all  the  rub- 
bish of  accumulated  centuries  of  servitude.  It  announced,  in  practical 
form,  to  the  world,  the  transcendent  truth  of  the  inalienable  sovereignty 
of  the  People.  It  proved  that  the  social  compact  was  no  figment  of 
the  imagination,  but  a  real,  solid,  and  sacred  bond  of  the  social  union. 
From  the  day  of  this  declaration,  the  People  of  North  America  were 
no  longer  the  fragment  of  a  distant  empire,  imploring  justice  and 
mercy  from  an  inexorable  master,  in  another  hemisphere.  T^ey  were 
no  longer  children,  appealing  in  vain  to  the  sympathies  of  a  heartless 
mother ;  no^  longer  subjects,  leaning  upon  the  shattered  columns  of 
royal  promises,  and  invoking  the  faith  of  parchment  to  secure  their 
rights.  They  were  a  Nation,  asserting  as  of  right,  and  maintaining  by 
war,  its  own  existence.    A  Nation  was  born  in  a  day. 

"  How  many  ages  hence 
Shall  this,  their  lofty  scene,  be  acted  o'er, 
In  States  unborn,  and  accents  yet  unknown  1 " 

ft  will  be  acted  o'er,  fellow-citizens,  but  it  can  never  be  repeated.  It 
stands,  and  must  forever  stand,  alone ;  a  beacon  on  the  summit  of  the 
-nountain,  to  which  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  may  turn  theii 
eyes,  for  a  genial  and  saving  light,  till  time  shall  be  lost  in  eternity, 
wA  this  globe  itself  dissolve,  nor  leave  a  wreck  behind.  It  stands  foi- 
>  'ver,  a  light  of  admonition  to  the  rulers  of  men,  a  light  of  salvation 
and  redemption  to  the  oppressed.  So  long  as  this  planet  shall  be 
jnhabited  by  human  beings,  so  long  as  man  shall  be  of  a  socia? 
'aature,  s<?  long  as  (Government  shall  be  necesKiry  to  the  great  moral 


310 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


purposeis  of  society,  so  long  as  it  shall  be  abused  to  the  purposes  ol 
oppression,  —  so  long  shall  this  declaration  hold  out,  to  the  soFer^igt 
and  to  the  subject,  the  extent  and  the  boundaries  of  their  resj>ccti\e 
rights  and  duties,  founded  in  the  laws  of  Nature  and  of  Nature's  God. 


m     WASHINGTON'S  SWORD  AND  FRANKLIN'S  &TAF¥.— J.  Q.  Adams,  in  i\e  U  8 
House  of  Representatives,  on  reception  of  these  memorials  by  Congress. 

The  sword  of  Washington  !  The  staff  of  Franklin  !  0,  Sir,  what 
s>-«}ciations  are  linked  in  adamant  with  these  names  !  Washington, 
whose  sword  was  never  drawn  but  in  the  cause  of  his  country,  and 
never  sheathed  when  wielded  in  his  country's  cause  !  Franklin,  the 
philosopher  of  the  thunderbolt,  the  printing-press,  and  the  plough- 
share !  —  What  names  are  these  in  the  scanty  catalogue  of  the  bene- 
factors of  human  kind!  Washington  and  Franklin  !  What  other  twc 
men,  whose  lives  belong  to  the  eighteenth  century  of  Christendom 
have  left  a  deeper  impression  of  themselves  upon  the  age  in  which  they 
lived,  and  upon  all  after  time  ? 

Washington,  the  warrior  and  the  legislator !  In  war,  contending, 
by  the  wager  of  battle,  for  the  independence  of  his  country,  and  for 
the  freedom  of  the  human  race,  —  ever  manifesting,  amidst  its  horrors, 
by  precept  and  by  example,  his  reverence  for  the  laws  of  peace,  and 
for  the  tenderest  sympathies  of  humanity ;  in  peace,  soothing  the 
ferocious  spirit  of  discord,  among  his  own  countrymen,  into  harmony 
and  union,  and  giving  to  that  very  sword,  now  presented  to  his  coun- 
try, a  charm  more  potent  than  that  attributed,  in  ancient  times,  to  the 
lyre  of  Orpheus. 

Franklin  !  —  The  mechanic  of  his  own  fortune  ;  teaching,  in  early 
youth,  under  the  shackles  of  indigence,  the  way  to  wealth,  and,  in  the 
shade  of  obscurity,  the  path  to  greatness ;  in  the  maturity  of  man- 
hood, disarming  the  thunder  of  its  terrors,  the  lightning  of  its  fatal 
blast ;  and  wresting  from  the  tyrant's  hand  the  still  more  afflictive 
sceptre  of  oppression :  while  descending  into  the  vale  of  years,  travers- 
ing the  Atlantic  Ocean,  braving,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  the  battle  and 
the  breeze,  bearing  in  his  hand  the  charter  of  Independence,  which  he 
had  contributed  to  form,  and  tendering,  from  the  self-created  Nation 
fco  the  mightiest  monarchs  of  Europe,  the  olive-branch  of  peace,  the 
mercurial  wand  of  commerce,  and  the  amulet  of  protection  and  safety 
to  the  nian  of  peace,  on  the  pathless  ocean,  from  the  inexorable  cruelty 
and  merciless  rapacity  of  war. 

And,  finally,  in  the  last  stage  of  life,  with  fourscore  winters  upou 
his  head,  under  the  torture  of  an  incurable  disease,  returning  to  \n» 
native  land,  closing  his  days  as  the  chief  magistrate  of  his  adopted 
'Commonwealth,  after  contributing  by  his  counsels,  under  the  Presi- 
dency of  Wjishington,  and  recording  his  name,  under  the  sanction  of 
devout  prayer,  invoked  by  him  to  God,  to  that  Constitution  under  thfi 
authority  of  which  we  are  here  assembled,  as  the  liepresentatives  of 
lihe  North  Aiuerican  People,  to  receive,  in  their  name  and  for  then*, 


iJEN.aORIAL.  JACKSON. 


811 


ihose  venerable  relics  of  the  wise,  the  valiant,  and  the  goA-i  Fou  idera 
of  our  great  confederated  Republic,  —  these  sacred  symbols  of  Jut 
golden  age.  May  they  be  deposited  among  the  archives  of  our  Oov- 
en^ment!  And  may  every  American,  who  shall  hereafter  t^-hold 
ihem,  ejaculate  a  mingled  offering  of  praise  to  that  Supreme  Eultr  ot 
the  Universe,  by  whose  tender  mercies  our  Union  has  been  hitherto 
preserved,  through  all  the  vicissitudes  and  revolutions  of  this  turbulent 
world  ;  and  of  prayer  for  the  continuance  of  these  blessings,  by  the 
dispensations  of  Providence,  to  our  beloved  country,  from  age  to  ago, 
till  time  shall  be  no  more  ! 


169.    UNION  LINKED  WITH  LIBERTY,  1833.— Andrew  Jackson.    B.  1767;  d.  1845 

Without  Union,  our  independence  and  liberty  would  never  havt 
been  achieved ;  without  Union,  they  can  never  be  maintained.  Divided 
into  twenty-four,  or  even  a  smaller  number  of  separate  communities, 
we  shall  see  our  internal  trade  burdened  with  numberless  restraints 
and  exactions ;  communication  between  distant  points  and  sections 
obstructed,  or  cut  off ;  our  sons  made  soldiers,  to  deluge  with  blood  the 
fields  they  now  till  in  peace ;  the  mass  of  our  People  borne  down  and 
impoverished  by  taxes  to  support  armies  and  navies;  and  military 
leaders,  at  the  head  of  their  victorious  legions,  becoming  our  lawgivers 
and  judges.  The  loss  of  liberty,  of  all  good  Government,  of  peace, 
plenty  and  happiness,  must  inevitably  follow  a  dissolution  of  tho 
Union.  In  supporting  it,  therefore,  we  support  all  that  is  dear  to  tho 
freeman  and  the  philanthropist. 

The  time  at  which  I  stand  before  you  is  full  of  interest.  The  eyes 
of  all  Nations  are  fixed  on  our  Republic.  The  event  of  the  existing 
crisis  will  be  decisive,  in  the  opinion  of  mankind,  of  the  practicability  of 
our  Federal  system  of  Government.  Great  is  the  stake  placed  in  our 
hands ;  great  is  the  responsibility  which  must  rest  upon  the  People  of 
the  United  States.  Let  us  realize  the  importance  of  the  attitude  in 
which  we  stand  before  the  world.  Let  us  exercise  forbearance  and 
firmness.  Let  us  extricate  our  country  from  the  dangers  which  sur- 
round it,  and  learn  wisdom  from  the  lessons  they  inculcate.  Deeply 
impressed  with  the  truth  of  these  observations,  and  under  the  obliga- 
tion of  that  solemn  oath  which  I  am  about  to  take,  I  shall  continue  to 
exert  all  my  faculties  to  maintain  the  just  powers  of  the  Constitution, 
and  to  transmit  unimpaired  to  posterity  the  blessings  of  our  Federrw 
Union. 

At  the  same  time,  it  will  be  my  aim  to  inculcate,  by  my  ofiicial  acte, 
the  necessity  of  exercising,  by  the  General  (iovernmerit,  those  powers 
only  tliat  are  clearly  delegated ,  to  encourage  simplicity  and  economy 
in  the  expenditures  of  the  Government ;  to  raise  no  more  money  froiL 
tho  People  than  may  be  requisite  for  these  objects,  and  in  a  manner 
ihat  will  best  promote  the  interests  of  all  classes  of  the  community 
and  of  all  portions  of  the  Union.  Constantly  bearing  in  mind  that  ,  ii( 
entering  into  society,    individuals  must  give  up  a  share  of  .^borty 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


prese;Te  tho  Tost."  it  will  be  mj  desire  so  to  discharge  my  duties  as  t* 
foster  with  our  brethren,  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  a  spirit  of  liberal 
^^onec■^s:v,ll  and  compromise  ;  and,  by  reconciling  our  fellow-citizens  to 
those  partial  sacrifices  which  they  must  unavoidably  make,  for  the 
preservation  of  a  gi-eater  good,  to  recommend  our  invaluable  Govern- 
ment and  Union  to  the  confidence  and  affections  of  the  American  Poo 
pie.  Finally,  it  is  my  most  fervent  prayer  to  that  Almigl-ty  Being 
before  whom  I  now  stand,  and  who  has  kept  us  in  his  hands  from  tha 
infancy  of  our  Republic  to  the  present  day,  that  he  will  so  overrule  all 
my  intentions  and  actions,  and  inspire  the  hearts  of  my  fellow-citizens, 
that  we  may  be  preserved  from  dangers  of  all  kinds,  and  continue  for- 
ever a  UNITED  AND  HAPPY  PEOPLE. 


160.    RESPONSIBILITIES  OF  A  RECOMMENDATION  OF  WAR.  —  Horace  Binney. 

What  are  sufficient  causes  of  war,  let  no  man  say,  let  no  legislator 
Bay,  until  the  question  of  war  is  directly  and  inevitably  before  him. 
Jurists  may  be  permitted,  with  comparative  safety,  to  pile  tome  upon 
tome  of  interminable  disquisition  upon  the  motives,  reasons  and  causes, 
of  just  and  unjust  war  ;  metaphysicians  may  be  suffered  with  impu- 
nity to  spin  the  thread  of  their  speculations  until  it  is  attenuated  to  a 
cobweb ;  but,  for  a  body  created  for  the  government  of  a  great  nation, 
and  for  the  adjustment  and  protection  of  its  infinitely  diversified  inter- 
ests, it  is  worse  than  folly  to  speculate  upon  the  causes  of  war,  until 
the  great  question  shall  be  presented  for  immediate  action,  —  until 
they  shall  hold  the  united  question  of  cause,  motive,  and  presen-t  expe- 
diency, in  the  very  palm  of  their  hands.  War  is  a  tremendous  evil. 
Come  when  it  will,  unless  it  shall  come  in  the  necessary  defence  of 
our  national  security,  or  of  that  honor  under  whose  protection  national 
security  reposes,  it  will  come  too  soon  ;  —  too  soon  for  our  national 
prosperity ;  too  soon  for  our  individual  happiness ;  too  soon  for 
the  frugal,  industrious,  and  virtuous  habits  of  our  citizens ;  too  soon, 
perhaps,  for  our  most  precious  institutions.  The  man  who,  for  any 
cause,  save  the  sacred  cause  of  public  security,  which  makes  all  wars 
defensive,  —  the  man  who,  for  any  cause  but  this,  shall  promote  or 
compel  this  final  and  terrible  resort,  assumes  a  responsibility  second  to 
none,  —  nay,  transcendently  deeper  and  higher  than  any,  —  which  man 
can  assume  before  his  fellow-men,  or  in  the  presence  of  God  hia 
Creator. 


101   THE  SUPREME  COURT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.— Horace  Bim  es- 

What,  Sir,  is  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States?  It  ia 
tha  august  representative  of  the  wisdom  and  justice  and  conscience  nf 
this  whole  People,  in  the  exposition  of  their  Constitution  and  laws, 
ft  is  the  peaceful  and  venerable  arbitrator  between  the  citizens  in  all 
questions  touching  the  extent  and  sway  of  constitutional  power.  It  i% 
^.be  ^-eat  moral  substitute  for  force  in  controversies  between  the 
Pecj^le,  the  Strites  and  the  Union.    It  is  that  departmwit  of  Admiuia 


SENATORIAL  — LEGARE. 


tA-ation  whose  ealia  voice  dispenses  the  blessings  of  the  Constitutiott 
in  the  overthrow  of  all  improvident  or  unjust  legislation  b}  a  State, 
directed  against  the  contracts,  the  currency,  or  the  intercourse  of  the 
People,  and  iu  the  maintenance  of  the  lawful  authority  and  institu- 
tions of  the  Union,  against  inroads,  by  color  of  law,  from  all  or  any  of 
the  States,  or  from  Congress  itself.  If  the  voice  of  this  tribunal, 
created  by  the  People,  be  not  authoritative  to  the  People,  what  voice 
can  be  ?  None,  my  fellow-citizens,,  absolutely  none,  but  that  voice 
which  speaks  through  the  trumpet  of  the  conqueror. 

It  has  been  truly  said,  by  an  eminent  statesman,  "  that  if  that  which 
Congress  has  enacted,  and  the  Supreme  Court  has  sanctioned,  be  not 
the  law,  then  the  reign  of  the  law  has  ceased,  and  the  reign  of  indi- 
vidual opinion  has  began."  It  may  be  said,  with  equal  truth,  that  if 
that  which  Congress  has  enacted,  and  the  Supreme  Court  has  sanc- 
tioned, be  not  the  law,  then  has  this  Government  but  one  department, 
and  it  is  that  which  wields  the  physical  force  of  the  country.  If  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  Union,  or  its  authority,  be  taken  away,  what 
remains  ?  Force,  and  nothing  but  force,  if  the  Union  is  to  continue 
at  all.  The  world  knows  of  no  other  powers  of  Government,  than  the 
power  of  the  law,  sustained  hj  public  opinion,  and  the  power  of  the 
sword,  sustained  by  the  arm  that  wields  it.  I  hold  it,  Sir,  to  be  free 
from  all  doubt,  that  wherever  an  attempt  shall  be  made  to  destroy  this 
Union,  if  it  is  under  the  direction  of  ordinary  understanding,  it  will 
begin  by  prostrating  the  influence  of  Congress,  and  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States. 


162.  THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  NOT  AN  EXPERIMENT,  1837.— 
Hugh  S.  Legari.    Born  in  South  Carolina^  1797;  died,  1843. 

We  are  told  that  our  Constitution  —  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  —  is  a  mere  experiment.  Sir,  I  deny  it  utterly ;  and  he  that 
fiays  so  shows  me  that  he  has  either  not  studied  at  all,  or  studied  to 
very  little  purpose,  the  history  and  genius  of  our  institutions.  The 
great  cause  of  their  prosperous  results  —  a  cause  which  every  one  of 
the  many  attempts  since  vainly  made  to  imitate  them,  on  this  conti- 
nent or  in  Europe,  only  demonstrates  the  more  clearly  —  is  precisely 
the  contrary.  It  is  because  our  fathers  made  no  experiments,  and  had 
no  experiments  to  make,  that  their  work  has  stood.  They  were 
foned,  by  a  violation  of  their  historical,  hereditary  rights  under  the 
old  common  law  of  their  race,  to  dissolve  their  connection  with  the 
moiLer  country.  But  the  whole  constitution  of  society  in  the  States, 
:ho  great  body  and  bulk  of  their  public  law,  with  all  its  maxims  anii 
[•rinciples,  —  in  short,  all  that  is  republican  in  our  institutions,  — 
remained,  after  .the  Revolution,  and  remains  now,  with  some  very 
subordinate  modifications,  what  it  was  from  the  beginning. 

(>ur  written  constitutions  do  nothing  but  consecrate  and  fortify  the 
plain  rules  of  ancient  liberty,"  handed  down  with  Mag-ia  Charta. 
Sroni  the  earliest  history  of  our  i  ace.    It  is  not  a  piece  of  paper,  Sir 


314 


THE  STANDARr  SPEAKEJtl. 


It  h  mji  a  few  abstractions  engrossed  on  parchment,  that  make  fret 
'^lovernfiicnts.  No,  Sir;  the  law  of  liberty  must  be  inscribed  on  the 
rieart  of  the  citizen :  the  word,  if  I  may  use  the  expression  without 
irreverence,  must  become  flesh.  You  must  have  a  whole  People 
trained,  disciplined  bred,  —  yea,  and  born,  —  as  our  fathers  were,  to 
institutions  like  ours.  Before  the  Colonies  existed,  the  Petition  of 
Rights,  that  Magna  Charta  of  a  more  enlightened-  age,  had  been  pre- 
sented, in  1628,  by  Lord  Coke  and  his  immortal  compeers.  Our 
founders  brought  it  with  them,  and  we  have  not  gone  one  step  beyond 
them.  They  brought  these  maxims  of  civil  liberty,  not  in  their 
libraries,  but  in  their  souls ;  not  as  philosophical  prattle,  not  as 
barren  generalities,  but  as  rules  of  conduct ;  as  a  symbol  of  publio 
duty  and  private  right,  to  be  adhered  to  with  religious  fidelity ;  and 
the  very  first  pilgrim  that  set  his  foot  upon  the  rock  of  Plymouth 
stepped  forth  a  living  constitution,  armed  at  all  points  to  defend  and 
to  perpetuate  the  liberty  to  which  he  had  devoted  his  whole  being. 


163.  EMOTIONS  ON  RETURNING  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES,  1837.  —  Leg-a/ * 

Sir,  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  speak  of  my  country  with  the  rap 
ture  which  I  habitually  feel  when  I  contemplate  her  marvellous  history 
But  this  I  will  say,  — that,  on  my  return  to  it,  after  an  absence  of 
only  four  years,  I  was  Qlled  with  wonder  at  all  I  saw  and  all  I  heard. 
What  is  to  be  compared  with  it  I  found  New  York  grown  up  t<i 
almost  double  its  former  size,  with  the  air  of  a  great  capital,  instead  of 
a  mere  flourishing  commercial  town,  as  1  had  known  it.  I  listened  to 
accounts  of  voyages  of  a  thousand  miles  in  magnificent  steamboats  on  the 
waters  of  those  great  lakes,  which,  but  the  other  day,  I  left  sleeping 
in  the  primeval  silence  of  nature,  in  the  recesses  of  a  vast  wilderness ; 
and  I  felt  that  there  is  a  grandeur  and  a  majesty  in  this  irresistible 
onward  march  of  a  race,  created,  as  I  believe,  and  elected,  to  ])ossess 
and  people  a  Continent,  which  belong  to  few  other  objects,  either  of 
the  moral  or  material  world. 

We  may  become  so  much  accustomed  to  such  things  that  they  shall 
make  as  little  impression  upon  our  minds  as  the  glories  of  the  Heavens 
above  us;  but,  looking  on  them,  lately,  as  with  the  eye  of  the  stranger, 
I  felt,  what  a  recent  English  traveller  is  said  to  have  remarked,  that^ 
far  from  being  without  poetry,  as  some  have  vainly  alleged,  our  whole 
i»:untry  is  one  groat  poem.  Sir,  it  is  so;  and  if  there  be  a  man  that 
3-in  Ihink  of  what  is  doing,  in  all  parts  of  this  most  biassed  of  all 
Iwda  t  embellish  and  advance  it,  —  who  can  contemplate  that  living 
.U'lss  d{  intelligence,  activity  and  improvement,  as  it  rolls  on,  in  its 
sure  and  steady  progress,  to  the  uttermost  extremities  of  the  West, — 
who  can  see  scenes  of  savage  desolation  transformed,  almost  with  thp 
a'lddenness  of  enchantment,  into  those  of  fruitfulness  and  beauty, 
jrowned  with  flourishing  cities,  filled  with  the  noblest  of  all  popula* 
clous,  —  if  there  be  a  man,  I  say,  that  caiv  witness  all  this,  passing 
inder  his  very  eyes,  without  feeling  his  heart  beat  high,  awl  hii 


SENATORIAL.  CLAY. 


Imaginr-tioii  warmed  and  trans|)orted  by  it  be  sure.  Sir,  that  the 
raptures  of  son^  exist  not  for  him ;  he  would  listen  in  vain  to  Tasso  oi 
Oamoens,  telling  a  tale  of  the  wars  of  knights  and  crusaders,  or  of  the 
discovery  and  3onquest  of  another  hemisphere. 


164.  IN  Fi^VOR  OF  PROSECUTING  THE  WAR,  Ul^.— Henry  Clay. 

When  the  administration  was  striving,  by  the  operation  of  peaceful 
measures,  to  bring  Great  Britain  back  to  a  sense  of  justice,  the  Gentle- 
men  of  the  opposition  were  for  old-fashioned  war.  And,  now  they 
have  got  old-fashioned  war,  their  sensibilities  are  cruelly  shocked,  anf^, 
all  their  sympathies  lavished  upon  the  harmless  inhabitants  of  the 
adjoining  Provinces.  What  does  a  state  of  war  present  ?  The  united 
energies  of  one  People  arrayed  against  the  combined  energies  of 
another ;  a  conflict  in  which  each  party  aims  to  inflict  all  the  injury 
it  can,  by  sea  and  land,  upon  the  territories,  property,  and  citizens 
of  the  other,  —  subject  only  to  the  rules  of  mitigated  war,  practised 
by  civilized  Nations.  The  Gentlemen  would  not  touch  the  continental 
provinces  of  the  enemy ;  nor,  I  presume,  for  the  same  reason,  her  pos- 
sessions in  the  West  Indies.  The  same  humane  spirit  would  spare  the 
seamen  and  soldiers  of  the  enemy.  The  sacred  person  of  his  Majesty 
must  not  be  attacked,  for  the  learned  Gentlemen  on  the  other  side 
are  quite  familiar  with  the  maxim  that  the  King  can  do  no  wrong. 
Indeed,  Sir,  I  know  of  no  person  on  whom  we  may  make  war,  upon 
the  principles  of  the  honorable  Gentlemen,  but  Mr.  Stephen,  the 
celebrated  author  of  the  orders  in  council,  or  the  board  of  admiralty, 
who  authorize  and  regulate  the  practice  of  impressment ! 

The  disasters  of  the  war  admonish  us,  we  are  told,  of  the  necessity 
of  terminating  the  contest.  If  our  achievements  by  land  have  been 
less  splendid  than  those  of  our  intrepid  seamen  by  water,  it  is  not 
because  the  American  soldier  is  less  brave.  On  the  one  element, 
organization,  discipline,  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  their  duties, 
exist,  on  the  part  of  the  officers  and  their  men.  On  the  other,  almost 
everything  is  yet  to  be  acquired.  We  have,  however,  the  consolation 
that  our  country  abounds  with  the  richest  materials,  and  that  in  no 
mstance,  when  engaged  in  action,  have  our  arms  been  tarnished. 

An  honorable  peace  is  attainable  only  by  an  efficient  war.  My 
plan  would  be,  to  call  out  the  ample  resources  of  the  country,  give 
them  a  judicious  direction,  prosecute  the  war  with  the  utmost  vigor, 
strike  wherever  we  can  reach  the  enemy,  at  sea  or  on  land,  and  negoti- 
ate  the  terms  of  a  peace  at  Quebec  or  at  Halifax.  We  are  told  that 
England  is  a  proud  and  lofty  Nation,  which,  disdaining  to  wait  for 
danger,  meets  it  half  way.  Haughty  as  she  is,  we  once  triumphed 
over  her ;  and,  if  we  do  not  listen  to  the  councils  of  timidity  and  despair 
we  shall  again  prevail.  In  such  a  cause,  with  the  aid  of  Provide'neG; 
we  must  come  out  crowned  with  success ;  but,  if  we  fail,  let  us  fail  like 
men, --lash  ourselves  to  our  gallant  tars,  and  expire  together  in  cue 
Bommoj  struggle,  fighting  for  free  trade  and  seamen's  rights  ' 


31t 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAtER. 


iO-5.  DEFENCE  OF  JEFFERSON,  181Z.— Henry  Clay. 
< 

JSext  to  the  notice  which  the  opposition  has  found  itself  called  ufxru 
to  bestow  upon  the  French  emperor,  a  distinguished  citizen  of  Virginia 
formerly  President  of  the  United  States,  has  never  for  a  moment  failec 
to  receive  their  kindest  and  most  respectful  attention.  An  honorabU 
gentleman  from  Massachusetts,  of  whom  I  am  sorry  to  say,  it  becomes 
necessary  for  me,  in  the  course  of  my  remarks,  to  take  some  notice, 
has  alluded  to  him  in  a  remarkable  manner.  Neither  his  retirement 
from  public  office,  his  eminent  services,  nor  his  advanced  age,  can 
exempt  this  patriot  from  the  coarse  assaults  of  party  malevolence, 
No,  Sir  !  In  1801,  he  snatched  from  the  rude  hand  of  usurpation  the 
violated  Constitution  of  his  country,  —  and  that  is  his  crime.  He  pre- 
served that  instrument,  in  form,  and  substance,  and  spirit,  a  precious 
inheritance  for  generations  to  come,  —  and  for  this  he  can  never  be  for- 
given. How  vain  and  impotent  is  party  rage,  directed  against  such  a 
man  !  He  is  not  more  elevated  by  his  lofty  residence,  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  his  own  favorite  mountain,  than  he  is  lifted,  by  the  serenity  of 
his  mind  and  the  consciousness  of  a  well-spent  life,  above  the  malig- 
nant passions  and  bitter  feelings  of  the  day.  No !  his  own  beloved 
Monticello  is  not  less  moved  by  the  storms  that  beat  against  its  sides, 
than  is  this  illustrious  man,  by  the  bowlings  of  the  whole  British  pack, 
let  loose  from  the  Essex  kennel  !  When  the  gentleman  to  whom  1. 
have  been  compelled  to  allude  shall  have  mingled  his  dust  with  that  of 
his  abused  ancestors,  —  when  he  shall  have  been  consigned  to  oblivion, 
or,  if  he  lives  at  all,  shall  live  only  in  the  treasonable  annals  of  a  cer- 
tain junto,  —  the  name  of  Jetferson  will  be  hailed  with  gratitude,  his 
memory  honored  and  cherished  as  the  second  founder  of  the  liberties 
of  the  People,  and  the  period  of  his  administration  will  be  looked  back 
to  as  one  of  the  happiest  and  brightest  epochs  of  American  history  ' 


166.  MILITARY  INSUBORDINATION,  1819.  — Henry  Clay. 

We  are  fighting  a  great  moral  battle,  for  the  benefit,  not  only  of  our 
country,  but  of  all  mankind.  The  eyes  of  the  whole  world  are  in  fixed 
attention  upon  us.  One,  and  the  largest  portion  of  it,  is  gazing  with 
contempt,  with  jealousy,  and  with  envy  ;  the  other  portion,  with  hope, 
with  confidence,  and  with  affection.  Everywhere  the  black  cloud  of 
legitimacy  is  suspended  over  the  world,  save  only  one  bright  spot, 
which  breaks  out  from  the  political  hemisphere  of  the  West,  to  en- 
lighten, and  animate,  and  gladden,  the  human  heart.  Obscure  thai 
by  the  downfall  of  liberty  here,  and  all  mankind  are  enshrouiled  in  a 
j^all  of  universal  darkness.  To  you,  Mr.  Chairman,  belongs  the  high 
privilojie  of  transmitting,  unimpaired,  to  posterity,  the  fair  charactcT 
and  xioerty  of  oar  country.  Do  you  expect  to  execute  this  high  trust 
by  trampling,  or  suffering  to  be  trampled  down,  law,  justice,  the  Con^ 
•titution,  and  the  rights  of  the  People  ?  by  exhibiting  examples  of 
jikimanity.  and  cruelty,  and  ambition  ^  When  the  minions  ol  desooj 


bENATORIAL.  CLAY. 


usm  heard,  in  Europe,  of  the  seizure  of  Pensarvla,  how  did  the^ 
ehuckie,  and  chide  the  admirers  of  our  institutions,  tauntingly  pointing 
fo  the  demonstration  of  a  spirit  of  injustice  and  aggrandizement  made 
oj  our  country,  in  the  midst  of  an  amicable  negDtiation  !  Behold, 
Baid  they,  the  conduct  of  those  who  are  constantly  reproaching  Kings  I 
Fou  saw  how  those  admirers  were  astounded  and  hung  their  heads. 
Yon  saw,  too,  when  that  illustrious  man  who  presides  over  us  adopted 
his  pacific,  moderate,  and  just  course,  how  they  once  more  lifted  up 
their  heads,  with  exultation  and  delight  beaming  in  their  countenances. 
And  you  saw  how  those  minions  themselves  were  finally  compelled  to 
unite  in  the  general  praises  bestowed  upon  our  Government.  Beware 
how  you  forfeit  this  exalted  character  !  Beware  how  you  give  a  fatal 
sanction,  in  this  infant  period  of  our  republic,  scarcely  yet  two-score 
years  old,  to  military  insubordination  !  Remember  that  Greece  had 
her  Alexander,  Rome  her  Caesar,  England  her  Cromwell,  France  her 
Bonaparte ;  and  that,  if  we  would  escape  the  rock  on  which  they  split, 
we  must  avoid  their  errors. 

I  hope  gentlemen  will  deliberately  survey  the  awful  isthmus  on 
which  we  stand.  They  may  bear  down  all  opposition ;  they  may  even 
vote  the  General  *  the  public  thanks ;  they  may  carry  him  triumph-! 
antly  through  this  House.  But,  if  they  do,  in  my  humble  judgment, 
it  will  be  a  triumph  of  the  principle  of  insubordination,  a  triumph  of 
the  military  over  the  civil  authority,  a  triumph  over  the  powers  of  this 
Elouse,  a  triumph  over  the  Constitution  of  the  land.  And  I  pray  most 
devoutly  to  Heaven,  that  it  may  not  prove,  in  its  ultimate  effects  and 
oonsequences.  a  triumph  over  the  liberties  of  the  People  ! 


167.  THE  NOBLEST  PUBLIC  MRTUE,  — Henry  Clay. 

There  is  a  sort  of  courage,  which,  I  frankly  confess  it,  I  do  net 
possess,  —  a  boldness  to  which  I  dare  not  aspire,  a  valor  which  I  cannot 
covet.  I  cannot  lay  myself  down  in  the  way  of  the  welfare  and  hap- 
piness of  my  country.  That,  I  cannot,  —  I  have  not  the  courage  to  do. 
I  cannot  interpose  the  power  with  which  I  may  be  invested  —  a  power 
conferred,  not  for  my  personal  benefit,  nor  for  my  aggrandizement,  but 
for  my  country's  good  —  to  check  her  onward  march  to  greatness  and 
glory.  I  have  not  courage  enough.  I  am  too  cowardly  for  that.  I 
would  not,  I  dare  not,  in  the  exercise  of  such  a  threat,  lie  down,  and 
place  my  body  across  the  path  that  leads  my  country  to  prosperity  and 
happiness.  This  is  a  sort  of  courage  widely  different  from  that  which 
a  man  may  display  in  his  private  conduct  and  personal  relations.  Per* 
aonal  or  private  courage  is  totally  distinct  from  that  higher  and  nobler 
GC'Urage  which  prompts  the  patriot  to  offer  himself  a  voluntary  sacrifice 
to  his  country's  good. 

Apprehensions  of  the  imputation  of  the  want  of  firmness  sometimes 
jmpel  us  to  pofform  rash  and  inconsiderate  acts.     It  is  tie  great<«t 


♦General  Ja<$k80D 


THE  SIANDARD  SPEAKER. 


^oarage  to  be  able  to  bear  the  imputation  of  the  vrau+  of  courage.  Btrt 
pride,  vanity,  egotism,  so  unamiable  and  offensive  in  private  life,  arp 
vices  which  partake  of  the  character  of  crimes,  in  the  conduct  of  publii 
affliirs.  The  unfortunate  victim  of  these  passions  cannot  see  beyond  the 
little,  petty,  contemptible  circle  of  his  own  personal  interests.  All  his 
thougbts  are  withdrawn  from  his  country,  and  concentrated  on  his  am- 
Bistency,  his  firmness,  himself!  The  high,  the  exalted,  tlie  sublime 
emotions  of  a  patriotism  which,  soaring  towards  Heaven,  rises  far  above 
all  mean,  low,  or  selfish  things,  and  is  absorbed  by  one  soul-transport' 
ing  thought  of  the  good  and  the  glory  of  one's  country,  are  never  felt 
in  his  impenetrable  bosom.  That  patriotism  which,  catching  its  inspir- 
ations from  the  immortal  God,  and,  leaving  at  an  immeasurable  distance 
below  all  lesser,  grovelling,  personal  interests  and  feelings,  animates 
and  prompts  to  deeds  of  self-sacrifice,  of  valor,  of  devotion,  and  of 
death  itself,  —  that  is  public  virtue  ;  that  is  the  noblest,  the  sublimftst 
of  all  public  virtues  ! 


168.  THE  EXPUNGING  RESOLUTION,  18ST.  — Henry  Clay. 

The  Senate  having,  in  18,34,  passed  resolutions  to  the  effect  that  President  Jackson  had 
assumed  and  exercised  powers  not  granted  by  the  Constitution,  notice  was  given  of  a  motion 
10  expuiige  the  same,  which  motion  was  taken  up  and  carried  in  1837,  when  the  majority  of  the 
Senate  was  of  a  different  party  complexion. 

What  patriotic  purpose  is  to  be  accomplished  by  this  expunging 
resolution  ?  Can  you  make  that  not  to  be  which  has  been  ?  Can  you 
eradicate  from  memory  and  from  history  the  fact  that,  in  March,  1834, 
a  majority  of  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  passed  the  resolution 
which  excites  your  enmity  ?  Is  it  your  vain  and  vvicked  object  to 
arrogate  to  yourselves  that  power  of  annihilating  the  past  which  has 
been  denied  to  Omnipotence  itself?  Do  you  intend  to  thrust  your 
hands  into  our  hearts,  and  to  pluck  out  the  deeply-rooted  convictions 
which  are  there  ?  Or,  is  it  your  design  merely  to  stigmatize  us  ^ 
You  cannot  stigmatize  us  ! 

"  Ne'er  yet  did  base  dishonor  blur  our  name." 

Standing  securely  upon  our  conscious  rectitude,  and  bearing  aloft  the 
Bhicld  of  the  Constitution  of  our  country,  your  puny  efforts  are  impo- 
tent, and  we  defy  all  your  power ! 

But  why  should  I  detain  the  Senate,  or  needlessly  waste  my  breath 
tn  fruitless  exertions?  The  decree  has  gone  forth.  It  is  one  of 
urgency,  too.  Tlie  deed  is  to  be  done,  — that  foul  deed,  which,  like 
the  stain  on  the  hands  of  the  guilty  Macbeth,  all  ocean's  waters  will 
Q(5ver  wash  out.  Proceed,  then,  to  the  noble  work  which  lies  before 
you  ;  and.  like  other  skilful  executioners,  do  it  quickly.  And,  when 
you  have  perpetrated  it,  go  home  to  the  People,  and  tell  them  what 
glorious  honors  you  have  achieved  for  our  common  country.  T'll]  thcni 
thai  you  have  extinguished  one  of  the  brightest  and  purest  lights  that 
ever  burnt  at  the  altar  of  civil  liberty.  Tell  them  that  you  havo 
silrn'^(3cl  on>  of  the  noblest  batteries  that  ever  thundered  in  d^feiKie  of 


SENATORIAL.  CLAY. 


the  CoRstiiattm,  and  that  you  have  bravely  spiked  the  caiinou.  Toll 
them  that,  henceforward,  no  matter  what  daring  or  outrageous  act  any 
President  may  perform,  you  have  forever  hermetically  sealed  the  mouth 
of  the  Senate.  Tell  them  that  he  may  fearlessly  assume  what  [lOwer 
he  pleases,  —  snatch  from  its  lawful  custody  the  Public  Purse,  com- 
mand a  military  detachment  to  enter  the  halls  of  the  Capitol,  overa  we 
Congress,  trample  down  the  Constitution,  and  raze  every  bulwark  of 
freedom,  —  but  that  the  Senate  must  stand  mute,  in  silent  submission, 
and  not  dare  to  lift  an  opposing  voice  ;  that  it  must  wait  until  a  House 
of  Representatives,  humbled  and  subdued  like  itself,  and  a  majority  of 
it  composed  of  the  partisans  of  the  President,  shall  prefer  articles  of 
impeachment.  Tell  them,  finally,  that  you  have  restored  the  glorious 
doctrine  of  passive  obedience  and  non-resistance  ;  and,  when  you  have 
told  them  this,  if  the  People  do  not  sweep  you  from  your  places  with 
their  indignation,  I  have  yet  to  learn  the  character  of  American  fre? 
men  ! 


169.  ON  RECOGNIZING  THE  INDEPENDENCE  OF  GREECE,  1824.  —  Clap. 

Are  we  so  low,  so  base,  so  despicable,  that  we  may  not  express  oui 
horror,  articulate  our  detestation,  of  the  most  brutal  and  atrocious  war 
that  ever  stained  earth,  or  shocked  high  Heaven,  with  the  ferocious  deeds 
of  a  brutal  soldiery,  set  on  by  the  clergy  and  followers  of  a  fanatical  and 
inimical  religion,  rioting  in  excess  of  blood  and  butchery,  at  the  mere 
details  of  which  the  heart  sickens  ?  If  the  great  mass  of  Christendom  can 
look  coolly  and  calmly  on,  while  all  this  is  perpetrated  on  a  Christian 
People,  in  their  own  vicinity,  in  their  very  presence,  let  us,  at  least, 
show  that,  in  this  distant  extremity,  there  is  still  some  sensibility  anJ. 
sympathy  for  Christian  wrongs  and  sufferings ;  that  there  are  still 
feelings  which  can  kindle  into  indignation  at  the  oppression  of  a  Peo- 
ple endeared  to  us  by  every  ancient  recollection,  and  every  modern  tie 
But,  Sir,  it  is  not  first  and  chiefly  for  Greece  that  I  wish  to  see  this 
measure  adopted.  It  will  give  them  but  little  aid,  —  that  aid  purely 
of  a  moral  kind.  It  is,  indeed,  soothing  and  solacing,  in  distress,  to 
hear  the  accents  of  a  friendly  voice.  We  know  this  as  a  People. 
But,  Sir,  it  is  principally  and  mainly  for  America  herself,  for  the  credit 
and  character  of  our  common  country,  that  I  hope  to  see  this  resolu- 
tion pass    it  is  for  our  own  unsullied  name  that  I  feel. 

What  appearance,  Sir,  on  the  page  of  history,  would  a  record  like 
Uiis  make  :  — "  In  the  month  of  J anuary,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  and 
Saviour  1824,  while  all  European  Christendom  beheld  with  cold, 
infceling  apathy  the  unexampled  wrongs  and  inexpressible  misery  of 
(Jhristian  Greece,  a  proposition  was  made  in  the  Congress  of  the 
(Tnited  States,  —  almost  the  sole,  the  last,  the  greatest  repository 
of  human  hope  and  of  human  freedom,  the  representatives  of  a  Nation 
upable  of  bringing  into  the  field  a  million  of  bayonets,  —  while  the 
freemen  of  that  Nation  were  spontaneously  expressing  its  deep-toned 
teeliag.  its  fervent  prayer  for  Grecian  success ;  while  the  whole  Con 


320 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


tinent  was  rising,  by  one  simultaneous  motion,  solemnly  and  anxiotjisii 
supplicating  and  invoking  the  aid  of  Heaven  to  spare  Greece,  and  tc 
invigorate  her  arms;  while  temples  and  senate-houses  were  all  resound* 
ing  with  one  burst  of  generous  sympathy ;  —  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
and  Saviour,  —  that  Saviour  alike  of  Christian  Greece  and  of  us,  —  a 
proposition  was  offered  in  the  American  Congress,  to  send  a  messenger 
to  Greece,  to  inquire  into  her  state  and  condition,  with  an  expression 
of  our  good  wishes  and  our  sympathies  ;  —  and  it  was  rejected  !  "  Go 
home,  if  you  dare, —  go  home,  if  you  can,— to  your  constituents,  and  tell 
them  that  you  voted  it  down !  Meet,  if  you  dare,  the  appalling  coun- 
tenances of  those  who  sent  you  here,  and  tell  them  that  you  shrank 
from  the  declaration  of  your  own  sentiments ;  that,  you  cannot  tell 
how,  but  that  some  unknown  dread,  some  indescribable  apprehension, 
some  indefinable  danger,  afi"righted  you ;  that  the  spectres  of  cimeters 
and  crowns,  and  crescents,  gleamed  before  you,  and  alarmed  you  ;  and, 
that  you  suppressed  all  the  noble  feelings  prompted  by  religion,  by  lib- 
erty, by  National  independence,  and  by  humanity !  I  cannot  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  such  will  be  the  feeling  of  a  majority  of  this 
House. 


170.  ON  THE  PROSPECT  OF  WAR,  mi.  — John  C.  Calhoun.    Born,  1782  ;  rf/erf,  1850. 

We  are  told  of  the  danger  of  war.  We  are  ready  to  acknowledge 
its  hazard  and  misfortune,  but  I  cannot  think  that  we  have  any  extraor- 
dinary danger  to  apprehend,  —  at  least,  none  to  warrant  an  acquies- 
cence in  the  injuries  we  have  received.  On  the  contrary,  I  believe  no 
war  would  be  less  dangerous  to  internal  peace,  or  the  safety  of  the 
country. 

In  speaking  of  Canada,  the  gentleman  from  Virginia  introduced  the 
name  of  Montgomery  with  much  feeling  and  interest.  Sir,  there  ia 
danger  in  that  name  to  the  gentleman's  argument.  It  is  sacred  to 
heroism  !  It  is  indignant  of  submission  !  It, calls  our  memory  back 
to  the  time  of  our  Revoluticn, —  to  the  Congress  of  1774  and  1775. 
Suppose  a  speaker  of  that  day  had  risen  and  urged  all  the  arguments 
which  we  have  heard  on  this  occasion  :  had  told  that  Congress,  "  Your 
contest  is  about  the  right  of  laying  a  tax ;  the  attempt  on  Canada  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  the  war  will  be  expensive ;  danger  and  devasta- 
tion will  overspread  our  country,  and  the  power  of  Great  Britain  is 
irresistible  "  ?  With  what  sentiment,  think  you,  would  such  doctrines 
have  been  received  ?  Happy  for  us,  they  had  no  force  at  that  period 
of  our  country's  glory.  Had  such  been  acted  on,  this  hall  would  never 
have  witnessed  a  great  People  convened  to  deliberate  for  the  general 
good ;  a  miglity  Empire,  with  prouder  prospects  than  any  Nation  tho 
Bun  ever  shone  on,  would  not  have  risen  in  the  West.  No !  we  would 
^rave  been  vile,  su})jected  Colonies  •  governed  by  that  imperious  rod 
which  Britain  holds  over  her  distant  Provinces. 

The  Gentleman  is  at  a  loss  to  account  for  what  he  call/5  our  hatrec 
GO  England.    He  asks,  How  can  we  hate  tne  country      f<ocke,  of 


SENATORIAL.  ::ALnOT)N  .  52 1 

N"ewton,  Hampden  and  Chatham;  a  country  ha vhig  the  .same  language 
and  customs  with  ourselves,  and  descended  from  a  common  ancestry  ? 
Sir,  the  laws  of  human  affections  are  steady  and  uniform.  If  we  have 
so  much  to  attach  us  to  that  country,  powerful,  indeed,  must  be  the 
cause  which  lias  overpowered  it.  Yes,  Sir ;  there  is  a  cause  strong 
enough.  Not  that  occult,  courtly  affection  which  he  has  supposed  to 
be  entertained  for  France ;  but  continued  and  unprovoked  insult  and 
injury,  —  a  cause  so  manifest,  that  the  Gentleman  had  to  exert  much 
vugenuity  to  overlook  it.  But,  in  his  eager  admiration  of  that  coun- 
try, he  has  not  been  sufficiently  guarded  in  his  argument.  Has  he 
reflected  on  the  cause  of  that  admiration  ?  Has  he  examined  the  rea- 
sons of  our  high  regard  for  her  Chatham  ?  It  is  his  ardent  patriot- 
ism nis  heroic  courage,  which  could  not  brook  the  least  insult  or 
injury  offered  to  his  country,  but  thought  that  her  interest  and  honoi 
ouglit  to  be  vindicated,  be  the  hazard  and  expense  what  they  might. 
I  hope,  when  we  are  called  on  to  admire,  we  shall  also  be  asked  to 
imitate. 


171.  AGAINST  THE  FORCE  BILL,  1833.  —  John  C.  Calhoun. 

It  is  said  that  the  bill  ought  to  pass,  because  the  law  must  be 
enforced.  The  law  must  he  enforced/  The  imperial  edict  must  be 
executed  I  It  is  under  such  sophistry,  couched  in  general  terms,  with- 
out  looking  to  the  limitations  which  must  ever  exist  in  the  practical 
exercise  of  power,  that  the  most  cruel  and  despotic  acts  ever  have  been 
covered.  It  was  such  sophistry  as  this  that  cast  Daniel  into  the  lions' 
den,  and  the  three  Innocents  into  the  fiery  furnace.  Under  the  same 
sophistry  the  bloody  edicts  of  Nero  and  Caligula  were  executed.  The 
law  must  be  enforced!  Yes,  the  act  imposing  the  tea-tax  "  must  be 
executed."  This  was  the  very  argument  which  impelled  Lord  North 
and  his  administration  in  that  mad  career  which  forever  separated  us 
from  the  British  Crown.  Under  a  similar  sophistry,  "  that  religion 
must  be  protected,"  how  many  massacres  have  been  perpetrated,  and 
how  many  martyrs  have  been  tied  to  the  stake !  What !  acting  on 
this  vague  abstraction,  are  you  prepared  to  enforce  a  law,  without  con- 
sidering whether  it  be  just  or  unjust,  constitutional  or  unconstitu- 
tional ?  Will  you  collect  money  when  it  is  acknowledged  that  it  is 
not  wanted  ?  He  who  earns  the  money,  who  digs  it  from  the  earth 
with  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  has  a  just  title  to  it,  against  the  universe, 
tso  one  has  a  right  to  touch  it  without  his  consent,  except  his  govern ■ 
QoeDt,  and  that  only  to  the  extent  of  its  legitimate  wants;  — to  take 
more  is  robbery ;  and  you  propose  by  this  bill  to  enforce  robbery  by 
paurder  ^  Yes  !  to  this  result  you  must  come,  by  this  miserable  soph- 
istry, this  vague  abstraction  of  enforcing  the  law,  without  a  regard  tc 
fche  fact  whether  the  law  be  just  or  unjust,  constitutional  or  unconsti 
tutional! 

In  the  same  spirit  we  are  told  that  the  Union  must  be  pTeserved 
without  regard  to  the  means.    And  how  is  it  proposed  to  preserve  th 


B22 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


(Jnion '?  By  force.  Does  any  man,  in  bis  senses,  believe  inat  tTau 
beautiful  -structure,  this  harmonious  aggregate  of  States,  produced  bj 
the  joint  consent  of  all,  can  be  preserved  by  force  ?  Its  very  iutrO' 
duction  would  be  the  certain  destruction  of  this  Federal  Union.  No, 
DO !  You  cannot  keep  the  States  united  in  their  constitutional  and  fed- 
eral bonds  by  force.  Has  reason  fled  from  our  borders  ?  Have  w« 
ijeased  to  reflect  ?  It  is  madness  to  suppose  that  the  Union  can  be 
preserved  by  force.  I  tell  you,  plainly,  that  the  Bill,  should  it  pass, 
cannot  be  enforced.  It  will  prove  only  a  blot  upon  your  statute-bookj 
a  reproach  to  the  year,  and  a  disgrace  to  the  American  Senate.  I 
repeat  that  it  will  not  be  executed  ;  it  will  rouse  the  dormant  spirit  of 
the  People,  and  open  their  eyes  to  the  approach  of  despotism.  The 
country  has  sunk  into  avarice  and  political  corruption,  from  which 
nothing  can  arouse  it  but  some  measure  on  the  part  of  the  Govern- 
ment, of  folly  and  madness,  such  as  that  now  under  consideration. 


172.    THE  PURSE  AND  THE  SWORD,  1836.  — JoAn  C.  Calhoun. 

There  was  a  time,  in  the  better  days  of  the  Republic,  when,  to  show 
what  ought  to  be  done,  was  to  insure  the  adoption  of  the  measure. 
Those  days  have  passed  away,  I  fear,  forever.  A  power  has  risen  up 
in  the  Government  greater  than  the  People  themselves,  consisting  of 
many,  and  various,  and  powerful  ■  interests,  combined  into  one  mass, 
and  held  together  by  the  cohesive  power  of  the  vast  surplus  in  the 
banks.  This  mighty  combination  will  be  opposed  to  any  change  j  and 
it  is  to  be  feared  that,  such  is  its  influence,  no  measure  to  which  it  is 
opposed  can  become  a  law,  however  expedient  and  necessary ;  and  that 
the  public  money  will  remain  in  their  possession,  to  be  disposed  of,  not 
as  the  public  interest,  but  as  theirs,  may  dictate.  The  time,  indeed, 
seems  fast  approaching,  when  no  law  can  pass,  nor  any  honor  can  be  con- 
ferred, from  the  Chief  Magistrate  to  the  tide-waiter,  without  the  assent 
of  this  powerfal  and  interested  combination,  which  is  steadily  becoming 
the  Government  itself,  to  the  utter  subversion  of  the  authority  of  the 
People.  Nay,  I  fear  we  are  in  the  midst  of  it ;  and  I  look  with 
anxiety  to  the  fate  of  this  measure,  as  the  test  whether  we  are  or  not. 

If  nothing  should  be  done,  — if  the  money  which  justly  belongs  to 
the  People  be  left  where  it  is,  with  the  many  and  overwhelming  objec- 
tions to  it,  —  the  fact  will  prove  that  a  great  and  ladical  change  has  been 
effected  ;  that  the  Government  is  subverted ;  that  the  authority  of  the 
People  is  suppressed  by  a  union  of  the  banks  and  the  Executive,  — » 
jnion  a  hundred  times  more  dangerous  than  that  of  Church  and  State, 
against  which  the  Constitution  has  so  jealously  guarded.  It  would  be 
the  announcement  of  a  state  of  things,  from  which,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
there  can  be  no  recovery,  —  a  state  ©f  boundless  corruption,  and  th<! 
lowest  and  basest  subserviency.  It  seems  to  be  the  order  of  Provi- 
dence that,  with  the  exception  of  these,  a  People  may  recover  from 
any  other  evil.  Piracy,  robbery,  and  violence  of  every  description 
m&y  as  history  proves,  be  succeeded  by  virtue,  patriotism,  and  natiop 


SENATORIAL.  CALHOUN. 


32S 


al  greatness ;  but  where  is  tha  example  to  be  found  of  a  degenerate, 
corrupt,  and  subservient  People,  who  have  ever  recovered  their  virtue 
and  patriotism  ?  Their  doom  has  ever  been  the  lowest  state  of  wretch* 
ednesa  and  misery  :  scorned,  trodden  down,  and  obliterated  forever 
fipona  the  list  of  nations  !  May  Heaven  grant  that  such  may  never  be 
our  doom  . 


173.    LIBERTY  THE  MEED  OF  INTELLIGENCE,  18iS.—John  C.  Calhoun. 

Society  can  no  more  exist  without  Government,  in  one  form  or 
another,  than  man  without  society.  It  is  the  political,  then,  which 
Includes  the  social,  that  is  his  natural  state.  It  is  the  one  for  which 
his  Creditor  formed  him,  into  which  he  is  impelled  irresistibly,  and  in 
which  only  his  race  can  exist,  and  all  his  faculties  be  fully  developed. 
Such  being  the  case,  it  follows  that  any,  the  worst  form  of  Govern- 
ment, is  better  than  anarchy  ;  and  that  individual  liberty,  or  freedom, 
must  be  subordinate  to  whatever  power  may  be  necessary  to  protect 
society  against  anarchy  within,  or  destruction  from  without ;  for  the 
safety  and  well-being  of  society  are  as  paramount  to  individual  liberty, 
as  the  safety  and  well-being  of  the  race  is  to  that  of  individuals ;  and, 
in  the  same  proportion,  the  power  necessary  for  the  safety  of  society 
is  paramount  to  individual  liberty.  On  the  contrary.  Government  hast 
no  right  to  control  individual  liberty,  beyond  what  is  necessary  to  the 
safety  and  well-being  of  society.  Such  is  the  boundary  which  separ- 
ates the  power  of  Government,  and  the  liberty  of  the  citizen,  or  sub- 
ject, in  the  political  state,  which,  as  I  have  shown,  is  the  natural  state 
of  man,  —  the  only  one  in  which  his  race  can  exist,  and  the  one  in 
which  he  is  born,  lives,  and  dies. 

It  follows,  from  all  this,  that  the  quantum  of  power,  on  the  part  of 
the  Government,  and  of  liberty  on  that  of  individuals,  instead  of  being 
equal  in  all  cases,  must,  necessarily,  be  very  unequal  among  different 
people,  according  to  their  different  conditions.  For,  just  in  proportion 
as  a  People  are  ignorant,  stupid,  debased,  corrupt,  exposed  to  violence 
within  and  danger  without,  the  power  necessary  for  Government  to 
possess,  in  order  to  preserve  society  against  anarchy  and  destruction, 
becomes  greater  and  greater,  and  individual  liberty  less  and  less,  until 
the  lowest  condition  is  reached,  when  absolute  and  despotic  power  be- 
comes necessary  on  the  part  of  the  Government,  and  individual  liberty 
extinct.  So,  on  the  contrary,  just  as  a  People  rise  in  the  scale  of 
intelligence,  virtue  and  patriotism,  and  the  more  perfectly  they  bo 
come  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  Government,  the  ends  for  whicb 
it  was  ordered,  and  how  it  ought  to  be  administered,  and  the  less  the 
tendency  to  violence  and  disorder  within  and  danger  from  abroad, 
the  power  necessary  for  Government  becomes  less  and  less,  and  indi 
vidual  liberty  greater  and  greater.  Instead,  then,  of  all  men  having 
the  same  right  to  liberty  and  equality,  as  is  claimed  by  those  who 
hold  that  they  are  all  born  free  and  equal,  liberty  is  the  noble  and 
Bighess  reward  bestowed  on  mental  and  moral  development,  combinr'd 


824 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


with  fuvorabb  (arcumstances.  Instead,  then,  of  Kberty  and  equalitrj 
being  born  with  man, —  instead  of  all  men,  and  all  classes  and  descrip. 
tions,  being  equally  entitled  to  them,  —  they  are  high  prizes  to  be  won 
and  are,  in  their  most  perfect  state,  not  only  the  highest  reward  tlai 
san  be  bestowed  on  our  race,  but  the  most  difficult  to  be  won,  and, 
when  won,  the  most  difficult  to  be  preserved. 


174.   POPULAR  INTEREST  IN  ELECTIONS.  —  Geo.  McDuffie. 

Serrge  McDuffie,  a  distinguished  citizen  of  South  Carolina,  studied  law  with  John  C.  Cal- 
ti  mn,  and  entered  Congress  in  1821,  where  he  gained  great  reputation  as  a  Speaker.  His  style 
©f  elocution  was  passionate  and  impetuous.    He  died  in  1851. 

We  have  been  frequently  told  that  the  farmer  should  attend  to  his 
plough,  and  the  mechanic  to  his  handicraft,  during  the  canvass  for  the 
Presidency.  Sir,  a  more  dangerous  doctrine  could  not  be  inculcated. 
If  there  is  any  spectacle  from  the  contemplation  of  which  I  would 
shrink  with  peculiar  horror,  it  would  be  that  of  the  great  mass  of  the 
American  People  sunk  into  a  profound  apathy  on  the  subject  of  their 
highest  political  interests.  Such  a  spectacle  would  be  more  portentous, 
to  the  eye  of  intelligent  patriotism,  than  all  the  monsters  of  the  earth, 
and  fiery  signs  of  the  Heavens,  to  the  eye  of  trembling  superstition. 
If  the  People  could  be  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  a  contest  for  the  Pres- 
idency, they  would  be  unworthy  of  freedom. 

"  Keep  the  People  quiet !  Peace  !  Peace  !  "  Such  arc  the  whis- 
pers by  which  the  People  are  to  be  lulled  to  sleep,  in  the  very  crisis 
of  their  highest  concerns.  Sir,  "  you  make  a  solitude,  and  call  it 
peace !  "  Peace  ?  'T  is  death !  Take  away  all  interest  from  the  Peo- 
pie  in  the  election  of  their  Chief  Ruler,  and  liberty  is  no  more. 
What,  Sir,  is  to  be  the  consequence  ?  If  the  People  do  not  elect  the 
President,  somebody  must.  There  is  no  special  Providence  to  decide 
the  question.  Who,  then,  is  to  make  the  election,  and  how  will  it 
operate  ?  Make  the  People  indifferent,  destroy  their  legitimate  influ- 
ence, and  you  communicate  a  morbid  violence  to  the  efforts  of  those 
who  are  ever  ready  to  assume  the  control  of  sach  affairs,  the  merce- 
nary intriguers  and  interested  office-hunters  of  the  country.  Tell  mg 
not,  Sir  of  popular  violence '  Show  me  a  hundred  political  faction- 
ists,  —  men  who  look  to  the  election  of  a  President  as  a  means  of 
gratifying  their  high  or  their  low  ambition,  —  and  I  will  show  you  the 
very  materials  for  a  mob,  ready  for  any  desperate  adventure,  connected 
with  their  common  fortunes.  The  People  can  have  no  such  motives  ; 
they  look  only  to  the  interest  and  glory  of  the  country. 

There  was  a  law  of  Athens,  which  subjected  every  citizen  to  pun- 
iishment,  who  refused  to  take  sides  in  the  political  parties  which  divided 
the  llepublic.  It  was  founded  in  the  deepest  wisdom.  The  ambitious 
few  will  inevitably  acquire  the  ascendency,  in  the  conduct  of  human 
affairs,  if  the  patriotic  many,  the  People,  are  not  stimulated  and 
reused  to  a  proper  activity  and  effort.  Sir,  no  Nation  on  earth  has 
ever  exerted  «o  extensive  an  influence  on  human  affairs  as  this  will 


SENATORIAL.  —  SERGEANT. 


eertainly  exercise,  if  we  preserve  our  glorious  system  of  Government 
m  its  pur'ty.  The  liberty  of  this  country  is  a  sacred  depository  —  a 
vestal  fire,  which  Providence  has  committed  to  us  for  the  general  benefit 
Df  mankind.  It  is  the  world's  last  hope.  Extinguish  it,  and  the 
earth  will  be  covered  with  eternal  darkness.  But  once  put  out  that 
fire,  and  I  "  know  not  where  is  the  Promethean  heat  which  can  that 
light  relume." 


176.    MILITARY  QUi^LmCATIONS  DISTINCT  FROM  CIVIL,  1828. —^o^n  «>er^ec«£ 

It  has  been  maintained  that  the  genius  which  constitutes  a  grea* 
military  man  is  a  very  high  quality,  and  may  be  equally  useful  in  the 
Cabinet  and  in  the  field  ;  that  it  has  a  sort  of  universality  equally 
applicable  to  all  affairs.  We  have  seen,  undoubtedly,  instances  of  a 
rare  and  wonderful  combination  of  civil  and  military  qualifications 
both  of  the  highest  order.  That  the  greatest  civil  qualifications  may 
be  found  united  with  the  highest  military  talents,  is  what  no  one  will 
deny  who  thinks  of  Washington.  But  that  such  a  combination  is 
rare  and  extraordinary,  the  fame  of  Washington  sufficiently  attests. 
If  it  were  common,  why  was  he  so  illustrious  ? 

I  would  ask,  what  did  Cromwell,  with  all  his  military  genius,  do 
for  England  ?  He  overthrew  the  Monarchy,  and  he  established  Dic- 
tatorial power  in  his  own  person.  And  what  happened  next  ?  An- 
other soldier  overthrew  the  Dictatorship,  and  restored  the  Monarchy 
The  sword  efiected  both.  Cromwell  made  one  revolution  ;  and  Monk 
another.  And  what  did  the  People  of  England  gain  by  it* 
Nothing.  Absolutely  nothing  !  The  rights  and  liberties  of  English- 
men, as  they  now  exist,  were  settled  and  established  at  the  Revolution 
in  1688.  Now,  mark  the  difference !  By  whom  was  that  Revolu- 
tion begun  and  conducted  ?  Was  it  by  soldiers  ?  by  military 
genius  ?  by  the  sword  ?  No !  It  was  the  work  of  statesmen  and 
of  eminent  lawyers,  —  men  never  distinguished  for  military  exploits 
The  faculty  — the  dormant  faculty  —  may  have  existed.  That  is  what 
no  one  can  affirm  or  deny.  But  it  would  have  been  thought  an 
absurd  and  extravagant  thing  to  propose,  in  reliance  upon  this  possible 
dormant  faculty,  that  one  of  those  eminent  statesmen  and  lawyers 
ehould  be  sent,  instead  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  to  command  the 
English  forces  on  the  Continent ! 

Who  achieved  the  freedom  and  the  independence  of  this  our  owQ 
country  ?  Washington  effected  much  in  the  field  ;  but  where  were 
fche  Franklins,  the  Adamses,  the  Hancocks,  the  Jefiersons,  and  the 
r^ees,  —  the  band  of  sages  and  patriots,  whose  memory  we  revere  ? 
They  were  assembled  in  Council.  The  heart  of  the  Revolution  beat 
111  the  Hall  of  Congress.  There  was  the  power  which,  beginning 
with  appeals  to  the  King  and  to  the  British  Nation,  at  length  made 
an  irresistible  appeal  to  the  world,  and  consummated  the  Revolution 
by  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  which  Washington  established 
i^ith  tneir  authority,  and,  bearing  their  commission,  supported 


326 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEB 


*rms.  And  ^^hat  has  this  band  of  patriots,  of  sagos,  anl  of  states- 
men, given  to  us  ?  Not  what  .  Caesar  gave  to  Rome  ;  not  what  Crom. 
well  gave  to  England,  or  Napoleon  to  France  :  thej  established  for  w, 
the  great  principles  of  civil,  political,  and  religious  liberty,  upon  the 
strong  foundations  on  which  they  have  hitherto  stood.  There  may 
have  been  military  capacity  in  Congress  ;  but  can  any  one  deny  thai 
St  is  to  the  wisdom  of  sages,  Washington  being  one,  we  arfi 
ffidebted  for  the  signal  blessings  we  enjoy  ? 


176.    OPPOSITION  TO  MISGOVERNMENT,  IBU.  —  Webster. 

All  the  evils  which  afflict  the  country  are  imputed  to  opposition. 
It  is  said  to  be  owing  to  opposition  that  the  war  became  necessary,  and 
owing  to  opposition,  also,  that  it  has  been  prosecuted  with  no  better 
success.  This,  Sir,  is  no  new  strain.  It  has  been  sung  a  thousand 
times.  It  is  the  constant  tune  of  every  weak  and  wicked  adminis- 
tration. What  minister  ever  yet  acknowledged  that  the  evils  which 
fell  on  his  country  were  the  necessary  consequences  of  his  own  inca- 
pacity, his  own  folly,  or  his  own  corruption  ?  What  possessor  of 
political  power  ever  yet  failed  to  charge  the  mischiefs  resulting  from 
his  own  measures  upon  those  who  had  uniformly  opposed  those  meas- 
ures? The  people  of  the  United  States  may  well  remember  the 
administration  of  Lord  North.  He  lost  America  to  his  country,  yet 
he  could  find  pretences  for  throwing  the  odium  upon  his  opponents. 
He  couFd  throw  it  upon  those  who  had  forewarned  him  of  conse- 
quences, and  who  had  opposed  him,  at  every  stage  of  his  disastrous 
policy,  v/ith  all  the  force  of  truth,  reason  and  talent.  It  was  not  his 
own  weakness,  his  own  ambition,  his  own  love  of  arbitrary  power,  that 
disaifected  the  Colonies.  It  was  not  the  Tea  Act,  the  Stamp  Act, 
the  Boston  Port  Bill,  that  severed  the  empire  of  Britain.  6,  no  ! 
It  was  owing  to  no  fault  of  Administration.  It  was  the  work  of 
Opposition.  It  was  the  impertinent  boldness  of  Chatham,  the  idle 
declamation  of  Fox,  the  unseasonable  sarcasm  of  Barre.  These  men, 
and  men  like  them,  would  not  join  the  minister  in  his  American  war. 
They  would  not  give  the  name  and  character  of  wisdom  to  what  they 
believed  to  be  the  extreme  of  folly.  They  would  not  pronounce  those 
measures  just  and  honorable  which  their  principles  led  them  to  con- 
demn. They  declared  the  minister's  war  to  be  wanton.  They  fore- 
saw its  end,  and  pointed  it  out  plainly,  both  to  the  minister  and  to  the 
country.  He  declared  their  opposition  to  be  selfish  and  factious.  Ha 
^wrsisted  in  his  course ;  and  the  result  is  in  history. 

Important  as  I  deem  it.  Sir,  to  discuss,  on  all  proper  occasions,  tho 
policy  of  the  measures  at  present  pursued,  it  is  still  more  imj^jitani 
to  maintain  the  right  of  such  discussion  in  its  full  and  just  extent, ' 
Sentiments  lately  sprung  up,  and  now  growing  popular,  render  it 
oecessary  to  be  explicit  on  this  point.  It  is  the  ancient  and  constitu- 
doiial  right  of  this  people  to  canvass  public  measures,  and  the  meritu 


SENATORIAL.  —  WEBSTER. 


327 


of  public  men.  It  is  a  home-bred  right,  a  fireside  ft^nilege.  It  haa 
ever  heen  enjoyed  in  every  house,  cottage  and  cabin,  in  the  Natioa 
It  is  not  to  be  drawn  into  controversy.  It  is  as  undoubted  as  the 
right  of  breathing  the  air  and  walking  on  the  earth.  Belonging  to 
private  life  as  a  right,  it  belongs  to  public  life  as  a  duty ;  and  it  is 
the  last  duty  which  those  whose  representative  I  am  shall  fiud  ine 
to  abandon.  This  high  constitutional  privilege  I  shall  defend  and 
exercise  within  this  House,  and  without  this  House,  and  in  all  places ; 
in  time  of  war,  in  time  of  peace,  and  at  all  times.  Living,  I  will 
assert  it ;  dying,  I  will  assert  it ;  and,  should  I  leave  no  other  legacy  tc 
my  children,  by  the  blessing  of  God  I  will  leave  them  the  inheritance 
of  free  principles,  and  the  example  of  a  manly,  independent,  an(' 
constitutional  defence  of  them  ! 


177    MORAL  FORCE  AGAINST  PHYSICAL,  Jan.  19, 1823.  —  Webster. 

The  time  has  been.  Sir,  indeed,  when  fleets,  and  armies,  and  sub 
sidies,  were  the  principal  reliances,  even  in  the  best  cause.  But,  hap 
pily  for  mankind,  there  has  come  a  great  change  in  this  respect, 
Moral  causes  come  into  consideration,  in  proportion  as  the  progress  oi 
knowledge  is  advanced ;  and  the  public  opinion  of  the  civilized  world 
IS  rapidly  gaining  an  ascendency  over  mere  brutal  force.  It  is  already 
able  to  oppose  the  most  formidable  obstruction  to  the  progress  of 
injustice  and  oppression ;  and,  as  it  grows  more  intelligent,  and  more 
intense,  it  will  be  more  and  more  formidable.  It  may  be  silenced  by 
military  power,  but  it  cannot  be  conquered.  It  is  elastic,  irrepress- 
ible, and  invulnerable  to  the  weapons  of  ordinary  t  irfare.  It  is  that 
impassable,  unextinguishable  enemy  of  mere  violence  and  arbitrarv 
rule,  which,  like  Milton's  angels, 

"  Vital  in  every  part, 
Cannot,  out  by  annihilating,  die." 

Until  this  be  propitiated  or  satisfied,  it  is  in  vain  for  power  to  talk 
either  of  triumphs  or  of  repose.  No  matter  what  fields  are  desolated, 
what  fortresses  surrendered,  what  armies  subdued,  or  what  provinces 
overrun.  In  the  history  of  the  year  that  has  passed  by  us,  and  in 
the  instance  of  unhappy  Spain,  we  have  seen  the  vanity  of  all  tri- 
umphs, in  a  cause  which  violates  the  general  sense  of  justice  of  the 
civilized  world.  It  is  nothing  that  the  troops  of  France  have  passed 
from  the  Pyrenees  to  Cadiz  ;  it  is  nothing  that  an  unhappy  and  pros- 
trate Nation  has  fallen  before  them  ;  it  is  nothing  that  arrests,  and 
confiscation,  and  execution,  sweep  away  the  little  remnant  of  naticoal: 
existence.  There  is  an  enemy  that  still  exists,  to  check  the  gloiy  of 
these  triumphs.  It  follows  the  conqueror  back  to  tlie  very  scene  of 
his  ovations ;  it  calls  upon  him  to  take  notice  that  Europe,  though 
silent,  is  yet  indignant ;  it  shows  him  that  the  sceptre  of  his  victory 
is  a  barren  sceptre, — that  it  shall  confer  neither  joy  nor  honor,  nui 
ehall  moulder  to  dry  ashes  in  his  grasp.    In  tlu*  midst  of  his  exiu^i^ 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEJl. 


tion,  it  piercer  his  ear  with  the  cry  of  injured  justice ;  it  denounoa 
against  him  the  indignation  of  an  enlightened  and  civilized  age  :  it 
turns  to  bitterness  the  cup  of  his  rejoicing,  and  wounds  him  with  the 
Bting  wiiich  belongs  to  the  consciousness  of  having  outraged  tht 
opinions  of  mankind. 


f78.    SYMPATHY  Wmi  SOUTH-AMERICAN  REPUBLICANISM,  1826.  —  Wettter. 

Y/e  are  told  that  the  country  is  deluded  and  deceived  by  cabalistic 
words.  Cabalistic  words !  If  we  express  an  emotion  of  pleasure  at 
the  results  of  this  great  action  of  the  spirit  of  political  liberty ;  if  we 
rejoice  at  the  birth  of  new  republican  Nations,  and  express  our  joy  by 
the  common  terms  of  regard  and  sympathy;  if  we  feel  and  signify 
high  gratification,  that,  throughout  this  whole  Continent,  men  are  now 
likely  to  be  blessed  by  free  and  popular  institutions ;  and  if,  in  the 
uttering  of  these  sentiments,  we  happen  to  speak  of  sister  Republics, 
of  the  great  American  flimily  of  Nations,  or  of  the  political  systems 
and  forms  of  Government  of  this  hemisphere,  —  then,  indeed,  it  seems, 
we  deal  in  senseless  jargon,  or  impose  on  the  judgment  and  feeling  of 
the  community  by  cabalistic  words  !  Sir,  what  is  meant  by  this  ?  Is 
it  intended  that  the  People  of  the  United  States  ought  to  be  totally 
indifferent  to  the  fortunes  of  these  new  neighbors  ?  Is  no  change,  in 
the  lights  in  which  we  are  to  view  them,  to  be  wrought,  by  their  hav- 
ing thrown  off  foreign  dominion,  established  independence,  and  insti- 
tuted, on  our  very  borders,  republican  Governments,  essentially  after 
our  own  example  ? 

Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  overrate  —  I  do  not  overrate  —  the  progress 
of  these  new  States,  in  the  great  work  of  establishing  a  well-secured 
popular  liberty.  I  know  that  to  be  a  great  attainment,  and  I  know 
they  are  but  pupils  in  the  school.  But,  thank  God,  they  are  in  the 
school !  They  are  called  to  meet  difficulties  such  as  neither  we  nor 
Dur  fathers  encountered.  For  these  we  ought  to  make  large  allow- 
inces.  What  have  we  ever  known  like  the  colonial  vassalage  of  these 
States  ?  Sir,  we  sprang  from  another  stock.  We  belong  "to  another 
race.^  We  have  known  nothing  —  we  have  felt  nothing  —  of  the 
political  despotism  of  Spain,,  nor  of  the  heat  of  her  fires  of  intolerance. 
No  rational  man  expects  that  the  South  can  run  the  same  rapid  career 
as  the  North,  or  that  an  insurgent  province  of  Spain  is  in  the  same 
condition  as  the  English  Colonies  when  they  first  asserted  their  ind&» 
pendence.  There  is,  doubtless,  much  more  to  be  done  in  the  first  than 
\n  the  last  case.  But,  on  that  account,  the  honor  of  the  attempt  ia 
not  less ;  and,  if  all  difficulties  shall  be,  in  time,  surmounted,  it  will  b# 
greater.  The  work  may  be  more  arduous,  —  it  is  not  less  noble  — • 
becaase  there  may  be  more  of  ignorance  to  enlighten,  more  of  bigotry 
to  subdue,  more  of  prejudice  to  eradicate.  If  it  be  a  weakness  t/>  fool 
B  strong  interest  in  the  success  of  these  great  revolutions,  I  confess 
myHtdf  guilty  of  that  weakness.  If  it  be  weak  to  feel  that  1  am  an 
AjUQerican,  —  to  think  that  recent  events  have  not  only  opened  now 


SENATORIAL.  WEBSTER. 


82S 


mcdes  of  intercourse  but  have  created,  also,  new  grounds  of  regard 
and  sympathy,  between  ourselves  and  our  neighbors  ;  if  it  be  weak  to 
teel  that  the  South,  in  her  present  state,  is  somewhat  more  emphati- 
cally a  part  of  America  than  when  she  lay,  obscure,  oppressed,  and 
unlmpwn,  under  the  grinding  bondage  of  a  foreign  power ;  if  it  be  weak 
to  rejoice  wnen,  even  in  any  corner  of  the  earth,  human  beings  are  able 
to  get  up  from  beneath  oppression,  —  to  erect  themselves,  and  to  enjoy 
the  proper  happiness  of  their  intelligent  nature.  —  if  this  be  weak^  it  is 
ft  weakness  from  which  I  claim  no  exemption. 


179.  HATRED  OP  THE  POOR  TO  THE  RICH,  1834.  —  fVebster 

Sir,  I  see,  in  those  vehicles  which  carry  to  the  People  sentiments 
from  high  places,  plain  declarations  that  the  present  controversy  is  but 
a  strife  between  one  part  of  the  community  and  another.  I  hear  it 
boasted  as  the  unfailing  security,  —  the  solid  ground,  never  to  ba 
shaken,  —  on  which  recent  measures  rest,  that  the  poor  naturally  hate 
the  rich.  I  know  that,  under  the  shade  of  the  roofs  of  the  Capitol, 
within  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  among  men  sent  here  to  devise 
means  for  the  public  safety  and  the  public  good,  it  has  been  vaunted 
forth,  as  matter  of  boast  and  triumph,  that  one  cause  existed,  powerful 
enough  to  support  everything  and  to  defend  everything,  and  that  was, 

—  the  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  to  the  rich. 

Sir,  I  pronounce  the  author  of  such  sentiments  to  be  guilty  of 
attempting  a  detestable  fraud  on  the  community ;  a  double  fraud,  — 
a  fraud  which  is  to  cheat  men  out  of  their  property,  and  out  of  the 
earnings  of  their  labor,  by  first  cheating  them  out  of  their  understand- 
ings.^ 

''The  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  to  the  rich  !  "  Sir,  it  shall  not 
be  till  the  last  moment  of  my  existence ;  —  it  shall  be  only  when  I  am 
drawn  to  the  verge  of  oblivion,  —  when  I  shall  cease  to  have  respect 
or  affection  for  anything  on  earth,  —  that  I  will  believe  the  people  of 
the  United  States  capable  of  being  effectually  deluded,  cajoled,  and 
driven  about  in  herds,  by  such  abominable  frauds  as  this.  If  they 
shall  sink  to  that  point,  —  if  they  so  far  cease  to  be  men  —  thinking 
men,  intelligent  men  —  as  to  yield  to  such  pretences  and  such  clamor. 

—  they  will  be  slaves  already ;  slaves  to  their  own  passions,  slaves  to 
the  fraud  and  knavery  of  pretended  friends.  They  will  deserve  to  be 
blotted  out  of  all  the  records  of  freedom.  They  ought  not  to  dishonor 
the  cause  of  self-government,  by  attempting  any  longer  to  exercise  it. 
They  ought  to  keep  their  unworthy  hands  entirely  off  from  the  causM 
of  nipublican  liberty,  if  they  are  capable  of  being  the  victims  of  arti^ 
fices  so  shallow,  —  of  tricks  so  stale,  so  threadbare,  so  often  practised, 
w  much  worn  out,  on  serfs  and  slaves. 

''The  natural  hatred  of  the  poor  against  the  rich  "  The  dangej 
jf  a  moneyed  aristocracy !  '  "A  power  as  gr?at  and  dangerous  as  that 
'^sisted  by  the  Kevolutiou  '  "A  call  to  a  new  Declaratioo  ol  Indo- 
peudence ! ' 


TItE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Sil,  1  adn^vyiiisli  the  People  against  the  objects  of  outcries  like  these 
I  admonish  every  mdiaetrious  .aoorer  in  the  country  to  be  on  his  guara 
against  such  delusions.  I  tell  him  the  attempt  is  to  play  off  hi?  pa& 
eions  against  liis  interests,  and  to  prevail  on  him,  in  the  name  of  lit/erty 
to  destroy  all  the  fruits  of  liberty ;  in  the  name  of  patriotism,  to  injure 
and  afflict  his  country ;  and  in  the  name  of  his  own  independence,  ie 
destroy  that  very  independence,  and  make  him  a  beggar  and  a  slave ! 


180.  ON  SUDDEN  POLITICAL  CONVERSIONS,  1838.  —  fVebster. 

Mr.  President,  public  men  must  certainly  be  allowed  to  cnange 
their  opinions,  and  their  associations,  w^henever  they  see  fit.  No  one 
doubts  this.  Men  may  have  grown  wiser,  —  they  may  have  attained 
to  better  and  more  correct  views  of  great  public  subjects.  Neverthe- 
less, Sir,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  what  appears  to  be  a  sudden, 
as  well  as  a  great  change,  naturally  produces  a  shock.  I  confess,  for 
one,  I  was  shocked,  when  the  honorable  gentleman,*  at  the  la'st  fcession, 
espoused  this  billt  of  the  Administration.  Sudden  movements  of  the 
affections,  whether  personal  or  political,  are  a  little  out  of  nature. 

Several  years  ago,  Sir,  some  of  the  wits  of  England  wrote  a  mock 
play,  intended  to  ridicule  the  unnatural  and  false  feeling  —  the  senti- 
mentalut,  —  of  a  certain  German  sc*hool  of  literature.  In  this  play, 
two  strangers  are  brought  together  at  an  inn.  While  they  are  warm- 
ing themselves  at  the  lire,  and  before  their  acquaintance  is  yet  five 
minutes  old,  one  springs  up,  and  exclaims  to  the  other,  "  A  sudden 
thought  strikes  me  !  —  Let  us  swear  an  eternal  friendship  !  " 

This  affectionate  offer  was  instantly  accepted,  and  the  friendship  duly 
sworn,  unchangeable  and  eternal !  Now,  Sir,  how  locg  this  eterna! 
friendship  lasted,  or  in  what  manner  it  ended,  those  who  wish  to  know 
may  learn  by  referring  to  the  play.  But  it  seems  to  me,  t^ir,  that  th^ 
honorable  member  has  carried  his  political  sentimentality  a  t'ood  dea' 
higher  than  the  flight  of  the  German  school ;  for  he  appears  to  havi 
fallen  suddenly  in  love,  not  with  strangers,  but  with  opponents.  Her^ 
tve  all  had  been.  Sir,  contending  against  the  progress  of  Exocutivv 
power,  and  more  particularly,  and  most  strenuously,  against  the  proj 
ects  and  experiments  of  the  Administration  upon  the  currency.  Th.' 
honorable  member  stood  among  us,  not  only  as  an  associate,  but  as  t' 
leader.  We  thought  we  were  making  some  headway.  The  People 
appeared  to  be  coming  to  our  support  and  our  assistance.  The  country 
aad  been  roused  ;  every  successive  election  weakening  the  strength  of  th« 
adversary,  and  increasing  our  own.  We  were  in  this  career  rf  success, 
carried  strongly  forward  by  the  current  of  public  opinion,  and  onlj 
needed  to  hear  the  cheering  voice  of  the  honorable  member,  — 
*'  Once  more  unto  the  broach,  dear  friends,  once  more  !  '* 

and  we  should  have  prostrated,  forever,  this  anti-constitutional,  antv 
commercial,  anti-republicfan,  and  an ti- American  policy  of  the  AdDiinia- 
braticn     But,  instead  of  these  encouraging  and  animating  aeccnte 
*  Mr.  Calhoun.  f  The  Sub-treasury  bill 


SENATORIAL.  WEBSTER. 


mhcld !  in  the  very  crisis  of  our  affairs,  on  the  very  eve  of  viccory 
fche  honorable  member  cries  out  to  the  enemy,  —  not  to  us,  his 
allies,  but  to  the  enemy,  —  '*  Holloa !  a  sudden  thought  strikes  me 
—  1  abandon  my  allies !  Now  I  think  of  it,  they  have  always  been  m;^ 
oppressors  !    I  abandon  them ;  and  now  let  you  and  me  swear  an  etei 
nal  friendship !  " 

Such  a  proposition,  from  such  a  quarter,  Sir,  was  not  likely  to 
long  withstood.  The  other  party  was  a  little  coy,  but,  upon  the  whole, 
nothing  Inath.  After  proper  hesitation,  and  a  little  decorous  blushing, 
it  owned  the  soft  impeachment,  admitted  an  equally  sudden  sympa 
thetic  impulse  on  its  own  side ;  and,  since  few  words  are  wanted  where 
hearts  are  already  known,  the  honorable  gentleman  takes  his  p]ac« 
among  his  new  friends,  amidst  greetings  and  caresses,  and  is  already 
enjoying  the  sweets  of  an  eternal  friendship. 


181.   THE  PLATFORM  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION,  1838.  —  ^e&s«cr. 

A  PRINCIPAL  object,  in  his  late  political  movements,  the  gentle- 
man himself  tells  us,  was  to  unite  the  entire  South ;  and  against  whom, 
or  against  what,  does  he  wish  to  unite  the  entire  South  ?  Is  not  thig 
the  very  essence  of  local  feeling  and  local  regard  ?  Is  it  not  the 
acknowledgment  of  a  wish  and  object  to  create  political  strength,  by 
uniting  political  opinions  geographically  ?  While  the  gentleman  wishes 
to  unite  the  entire  South,  I  pray  to  know,  Sir,  if  he  expects  me  to  turn 
toward  the  polar-star,  and,  acting  on  the  same  principle,  to  utter  a  cry 
of  Rally  !  to  the  whole  North  ?  Heaven  forbid !  To  the  day  of  my 
death,  neither  he  nor  others  shall  hear  such  a  cry  from  me. 

Finally,  the  honorable  member  declares  that  he  shall  now  march  off, 
under  the  banner  of  State  rights  !  March  off  from  whom  ?  March 
off  from  what  ?  We  have  been  contending  for  great  principles.  We 
have  been  struggling  to  maintain  the  liberty  and  to  restore  the  prosper- 
ity of  the  country ;  we  have  made  these  struggles  here,  in  the  national 
councils,  with  the  old  flag  —  the  true  American  flag,  the  Eagle  and  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  —  waving  over  the  Chamber  in  which  we  sit.  He  now 
tells  us,  however,  that  he  marches  off  under  the  State-rights  banner  ! 

Let  him  go.  I  remain.  I  am,  where  I  ever  have  been,  and  ever 
mean  to  be.  Here,  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  general  Constitu- 
tion, —  a  platform  broad  enough,  and  fii-m  enough,  to  uphold  every 
interest  of  the  whole  country,  —  I  shall  still  be  found.  Intrusted  with 
some  part  in  the  administration  of  that  Constitution,  I  intend  to  act  in 
its  spirit,  and  in  the  spirit  of  those  who  framed  it.  Yes,  Sir.  I  would 
»ct  1^  if  our  fathers,  who  formed  it  for  us,  and  who  bequeathed  it  to 
arf,  ware  looking  on  me,  —  as  if  I  could  see  their  venerable  fuims, 
bending  down  to  behold  us  from  the  abodes  above !  I  would  act,  too. 
6S  if  the  eye  of  posterity  was  gazing  on  me. 

Standing  thus,  as  in  the  full  gaze  of  our  ancestors  and  our  posterity- 
having  received  this  inheritance  from  the  former  to  be  transmitted  to 
the  latter,  and  feeling  that,  if  I  am  born  for  any  good,  in  my  day  and 
generation,  it  Is  for  the  good  of  the  whole  country,  —  ao  local  policy,  M 


832 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


/ocal  foelirij^,  no  temporary  impulse,  shall  induce  me  to  yield  my  footr 
hold  on  the  Constitution  and  the  Union.  I  move  off  under  no  l»anne< 
aot  known  to  the  whole  American  I*eople,  and  to  their  Constitutioa 
wad  laws.    No,  Sir !  these  walls,  these  columns 

"  fly 

From  their  firm  base  9.3  soon  as  I." 

I  came  into  public  life,  Sir^  in  the  service  of  the  United  States  On 
that  broad  altar  my  earliest  and  all  my  public  vows  have  been  made. 
I  propose  to  serve  no  other  master.  So  far  as  depends  on  any  agency 
of  mine,  they  shall  continue  united  States ;  —  united  in  interest  and 
in  affection ;  united  in  everything  in  regard  to  which  the  Constitutior 
has  decreed  their  union  ;  united  in  war,  for  the  common  defence,  the 
common  renown,  and  the  common  glory  ;  and  united,  compacted,  knit 
firmly  together,  in  peace,  for  the  common  prosperity  and  happiness  of 
ourselves  and  our  children  ! 


182.    RESISTANCE  TO  OPPRESSION  IN  ITS  liUmM^mS.  —  Daniel  JVeltster 

Every  encroachment,  great  or  small,  is  important  enough  to  awaken 
the  attention  of  those  who  are  intrusted  with  the  preservation  of  a 
Constitutional  Government.  We  are  not  to  wait  till  great  public 
mischiefs  come,  till  the  government  is  overthrown,  or  liberty  itself  put 
in  extreme  jeopardy.  We  should  not  be  worthy  sons  of  our  fathers, 
were  we  so  to  regard  great  questions  affecting  the  general  freedom 
Those  fathers  accomplished  the  Revolution  on  a  strict  question  of  prin- 
ciple. The  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  asserted  a  right  to  tax  the 
Colonies  in  all  cases  whatsoever ;  and  it  was  precisely  on  this  question 
that  they  made  the  Revolution  turn.  The  amount  of  taxation  was 
trifling,  but  the  claim  itself  was  inconsistent  with  liberty ;  and  that 
was,  in  their  eyes,  enough.  It  was  against  the  recital  of  an  act  of 
Parliament,  rather  than  against  any  suffering  under  its  enactments, 
that  they  took  up  arms.  They  went  to  war  against  a  preamble.  They 
fought  seven  years  against  a  declaration.  They  poured  out  their 
treasures  and  their  blood  like  water,  in  a  contest,  in  opposition  to  an 
assertion,  which  those  less  sagacious  and  not  so  well  schooled  in  th^ 
principles  of  civil  liberty  would  have  regarded  as  barren  phraseology, 
or  mere  parade  of  words.  They  saw  in  the  claim  of  the  Briti-sh  Par- 
liament a  seminal  principle  of  mischief,  the  germ  of  unjust  power ; 
ihey  detected  it,  dragged  it  forth  from  underneath  its  plausible  dis- 
guises, struck  at  it,  nor  did  it  elude  either  their  steady  eye,  or  their 
well-directed  blow,  till  they  had  extirpated  and  destroyed  it,  to  the 
smallest  fibre.  On  this  question  of  principle,  while  actual  suffering 
jras  yet  afar  off,  they  raised  their  flag  against  a  power  to  which,  foi 
p  irposes  of  foreign  conquest  and  subjugation,  Rome,  in  the  height  ot 
h  )r  glory,  is  not  to  be  compared  ;  a  power  which  has  dotted  over  the 
mrface  of  the  whole  globe  with  her  possessions  and  military  posts 
whose  morning  drum-boat,  following  the  sun,  and  keeping  comppaj 
vith  the  hours,  circles  the  earth  daily  with  one  coDtinuous  ani 
jnbrokeu  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of  England, 


fENATOftlAL.  WEBSTEK. 


183.   PEACEABLE  SECESSION,  1850.  —  Webster. 

Sir,  be  who  sees  these  States  now  revolving  in  harmony  around  a 
sommon  centre,  and  expects  to  see  them  quit  their  places  and  fly  off 
without  convulsion,  may  look  the  next  hour  to  see  the  heavenly  bodies 
rush  from  their  spheres,  and  jostle  against  each  other  in  the  realms  of 
ipace,  without  causing  the  crush  of  the  universe.  There  can  be  no 
such  thing  as  a  peaceable  secession.  Peaceable  secession  is  an  utter 
impossibility.  Is  the  great  Constitution  under  which  we  live,  covering 
this  whole  country,  is  it  to  be  thawed  and  melted  away  by  secession, 
as  the  snows  on  the  mountain  melt  under  the  influence  of  a  vernal  sun, 
disappear  almost  unobserved,  and  run  ofl"  ?  No,  Sir  !  No,  Sir  !  I  will 
cot  state  what  might  produce  the  disruption  of  the  Union :  but,  Sir,  I 
see,  as  plainly  as  I  see  the  sun  in  Heaven,  what  that  disruption  itself 
must  produce ;  I  see  that  it  must  produce  war,  and  such  a  war  as  I 
will  not  describe,  in  its  two-fold  character. 

Peaceable  secession  !  —  peaceable  secession  !  The  concurrent  agree- 
ment of  all  the  members  of  this  great  Republic  to  separate !  A  vol- 
untary separation,  with  alimony  on  one  side  and  on  the  other.  Why, 
what  would  be  the  result  ?  Where  is  the  line  to  be  drawn  ?  What 
States  are  to  secede  ?  What  is  to  remain  American  ?  What  am  I  to 
be  ?  An  American  no  longer  ?  Am  I  to  become  a  sectional  man,  a 
local  man,  a  separatist,  with  no  country  in  common  with  the  gentle- 
men who  sit  around  me  here,  or  who  fill  the  other  House  of  Congress  ? 
Heaven  forbid  !  Where  is  the  flag  of  the  Republic  to  remain  ?  Where 
is  the  eagle  still  to  tower  ? — or  is  he  to  cower,  and  shrink,  and  fall  to  the 
ground  ?  Why,  Sir,  our  ancestors  —  our  fathers  and  our  grandfathers, 
those  of  them  that  are  yet  living  amongst  us,  with  prolonged  lives  — 
would  rebuke  and  reproach  us  ;  and  our  children  and  our  grandchildren 
would  cry  out  shame  upon  us,  if  we,  of  this  generation,  should  dis- 
honor these  ensigns  of  the  power  of  the  Government  and  the  harmony 
of  that  Union,  which  is  every  day  felt  among  us  with  so  much  joy  and 
gratitude.  What  is  to  become  of  th^  army  ?  What  is  to  become  of 
the  navy  ?  What  is  to  become  of  the  public  lands  ?  How  is  any  one 
of  the  thirty  States  to  defend  itself? 

Sir,  we  could  not  sit  down  here  to-day,  and  draw  a  line  of  separa- 
tion that  would  satisfy  any  five  men  in  the  country.  There  are  natu- 
ral causes  that  would  keep  and  tie  us .  together  ;  and  there  are  social 
and  domestic  relations  which  we  could  not  break  if  we  would,  and 
whish  we  should  not  if  we  could. 


184.  ON  MR.  CLAY'S  RESOLUTIONS,  March  7,         — Webster. 

And  now,  IMr.  President,  instead  of  speaking  of  the  possibility  or 
itility  of  secession,  instead  of  dwelling  in  these  caverns  of  darkness, 
instead  of  groping  with  those  ideas  so  full  of  all  that  is  horrid  and 
horrible,  let  us  come  out  into  the  light  of  day  ;  let  us  enjoy  the  fresh 
ttir  of  Liberty  and  Union  ;  let  us  cherish  those  hopes  which  belong  to 
as  ;  lot  us  devote  ourselves  to  those  great  objects  that  are  fit  for  our 


334 


THE  STAJIDARD  SPEAKER. 


BOnsidcratif'n  and  o  ir  action  ;  let  us  raise  our  conceptions  to  tbe  mag. 
tticude  and  the  ?mportance  of  the  duties  that  devolve  upon  us  ;  let  oul 
comprehension  oe  as  broad  as  the  country  for  which  we  act,  our  aspira* 
tions  as  high  as  its  certain  destiny ;  let  us  not  be  pigUxies  in  a  case 
that  calls  for  men.  Never  did  there  devolve  on  any  generation  of  men 
higher  trusts  than  now  devolve  upon  us,  for  the  preservation  of  this 
Constitution,  and  the  harmony  and  peace  of  all  who  are  destined  to  live 
under  it.  Let  us  make  our  generation  one  of  the  strongest  and  bright- 
est links  in  that  golden  chain,  which  is  destined,  I  fondly  believe,  to 
grapple  the  People  of  all  the  States  to  this  Constitution  for  ages  tx} 
come. 

We  have  a  great,  popular,  constitutional  Government,  guarded  by 
law  and  by  judicature,  and  defended  by  the  whole  affections  of  the 
People.  No  monarchical  throne  presses  these  States  together ;  no  iron 
chain  of  military  power  encircles  them ;  they  live  and  stand  upon  a 
Government  popular  in  its  form,  representative  in  its  character,  founded 
upon  principles  of  equality,  and  so  constructed,  we  hope,  as  to  last  for- 
ever. In  all  its  history  it  has  been  beneficent ;  it  has  trodden  down 
no  man's  liberty, —  it  has  crushed  no  State.  Its  daily  respiration  ia 
liberty  and  patriotism ;  its  yet  youthful  veins  are  full  of  enterprise, 
courage,  and  honorable  love  of  glory  and  renown.  Large  before,  the 
country  has  now,  by  recent  events,  become  vastly  larger.  This  Repub- 
lic now  extends,  with  a  vast  breadth,  across  the  whole  Continent.  The 
two  great  seas  of  the  world  wash  the  one  and  the  other  shore.  We 
realize,  on  a  mighty  scale,  the  beautiful  description  of  the  ornamental 
edging  of  the  buckler  of  Achilles,  — 

"  Now  the  broad  shield  complete,  the  artist  crowned 
With  his  last  hand,  and  poured  the  ocean  round  : 
In  living  silver  seemed  the  waves  to  roll. 
And  beat  the  buckler's  verge,  and  bound  the  whole.'* 


185.  JUSTICE  TO  THE  WHOLE  COUNTRY,  July  17,  1S50.  —  TVebster 

I  THINK,  Sir,  the  country  calls  upon  us  loudly  and  imperatively  to 
settle  this  question.  I  think  that  the  whole  world  is  looking  to  see 
whether  this  great  popular  Government  can  get  through  such  a  crisis. 
We  are  the  observed  of  all  observers.  It  is  not  to  be  disputed  or 
doubted,  that  the  eyes  of  all  Christendom  are  upon  us.  We  havo 
stood  through  many  trials.  Can  we  stand  through  this,  which  takes 
so  much  the  character  of  a  sectional  controversy  ?  Can  we  stand  that  ? 
There  is  no  inquiring  man  in  all  Europe  who  does  not  ask  himself  that 
question  every  day,  when  he  reads  the  intelligence  of  the  morning. 
Can  this  country,  with  one  set  of  interests  at  the  South,  and  another 
«et  of  interests  at  the  North, — these  interests  supposed,  but  falsely  sup 
[josed,  to  be  at  variance,  —  can  this  People  see,  what  is  so  evident  to  tho 
whole  world  beside,  that  this  Union  is  their  main  hope  and  greatest 
benefit,  and  that  their  interests  are  entirely  compatible  ?  Can  they 
lee,  and  will  they  feel,  that  thjir  prosperity,  their  respectability  amopg 


SENATORIAL,  WEBSITER. 


38b 


the  Nat  .ons  of  tne  aarth,  and  their  happiness  at  home,  depend  upoi^ 
the  ma'ntenance  of  their  Union  and  their  Constitution  ?  That  is  the 
question.  I  agree  that  local  divisions  are  apt  to  overturn  the  under- 
standings of  men,  and  to  excite  a  belligerent  feeling  between  sectioB 
and  section.  It  is  natural,  in  times  of  irritation,  for  one  part  of  th« 
country  to  say,  if  you  do  that  I  will  do  this,  and  so  get  up  a  feeling 
of  hostility  and  defiance.  Then  comes  belligerent  legislation,  and  then 
an  appeal  to  arms.  The  question  is,  whether  we  have  the  true  patri- 
otism, the  Americanism,  necessary  to  carry  us  through  such  a  trial 
The  whole  world  is  looking  towards  us,  with  extreme  anxiety. 

For  myself,  I  propose,  Sir,  to  abide  by  the  principles  and  the  pur- 
poses which  I  have  avowed.  I  shall  stand  by  the  Union,  and  by  all 
who  stand  by  it.  I  shall  do  justice  to  the  whole  country,  according 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  in  all  I  say,  —  and  act  for  the  good  of  the 
whole  country  in  all  I  do.  I  mean  to  stand  upon  the  Constitution. 
I  need  no  other  platform.  I  shall  know  but  one  country.  The  ends 
I  aim  at  shall  be  my  country's,  my  God's,  and  Truth's.  I  was  born 
an  American  ;  I  live  an  American  ;  I  shall  die  an  American  :  and  I 
intend  to  perform  the  duties  incumbent  upon  me  in  that  character  to 
the  end  of  my  career.  I  mean  to  do  this,  with  absolute  disregard  of 
personal  consequences.  What  are  personal  consequences  ?  What  is 
the  individual  man,  with  all  the  good  or  evil  that  may  betide  him,  in 
comparison  with  the  good  or  evil  which  may  befall  a  great  country  in 
a  crisis  like  this,  and  in  the  midst  of  great  transactions  which  concern 
that  country's  fate  ?  Let  tne  consequences  be  what  they  will,  I  am 
careless.  No  man  can  suffer  too  much,  and  no  man  can  fall  too  soon, 
if  he  suffer,  or  if  he  fall,  in  defence  of  the  liberties  and  Constitution 
of  his  country !   

186.  MATCHES  AND  OVER-MATCHES,  mO.  —  Webster. 

The  following  passage,  and  others  by  Blr.  Webster  which  succeed  it  in  this  Department,  are 
from  his  speeches  in  reply  to  Mr.  Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 
January,  1830.  This  celebrated  intellectual  combat,  between  these  distinguished  men,  grew  out 
of  a  Resolution  offered  by  Mr.  Foote,  directing  the  committee  on  Public  Lands  to  inquire  into 
the  quantity  of  the  public  lands  remaining  unsold,  and  other  matters  connected  therewith. 
This  resolution  afforded  a  text  for  a  very  irrelevant  debate.  Of  the  irrelevancy  of  Mr.  Hayne's 
remarks,  Mr.  Webster  said :  "  He  has  spoken  of  everything  but  the  public  lands.  They  have 
escaped  his  notice.  To  that  subject,  in  all  his  excursions,  he  has  not  even  paid  the  cold  i-espe^* 
of  a  passing  glance." 

I  AM  not  one  of  those,  Sir,  who  esteem  any  tribute  of  regard,  whethe' 
light  and  occasional,  or  more  serious  and  deliberate,  which  may  be 
bestowed  on  others,  as  so  much  unjustly  withholden  from  themselves?. 
But  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  gentleman's  question  forbid  me  thus 
to  interpret  it.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  consider  it  as  nothing  more 
than  a  civility  to  his  friend.  It  had  an  air  of  taunt  and  disparage- 
ment, a  little  of  the  loftiness  of  asserted  superiority,  which  does  no^ 
iillow  me  to  pass  it  over  without  notice.  It  was  put  as  a  question  foj 
mo  to  answer,  and  so  put  as  if  it  were  difl&cult  for  me  to  answer, 
whether  I  deemed  the  member  from  Missouri  an  over-match  for  rayself 
in  debate  here.  It  seems  to  me,  Sir,  that  this  is  extraordinary  \an 
euage,  and  an  extraordinary  tone,  for  tho  discussions  of  this  body. 


«36 


THE  STANDAED  SPEAKER. 


Matches  and  over-matches  !  Those  terms  are  more  applicable  else 
wrhere  than  here,  and  fitter  for  other  assemblies  than  this.  Sir,  (h« 
gentleman  seems  to  forget  where  and  what  we  are.  This  is  a  Senate , 
ft  Senate  of  equals ;  of  men  of  individuai  honor  and  personal  character, 
and  of  absolute  independence.  We  know  no  masters  ;  we  acknowledge 
£0  dictators.  This  is  a  Hall  for  mutual  consultation  and  discussion , 
noi  an  arena  for  the  exhibition  of  champions.  I  olFer  myself,  Sir,  a? 
a  ?natch  for  no  man ;  I  throw  the  challer^ge  of  debate  at  no  man's  feet. 
But,  then,  Sir,  since  the  honorable  member  has  put  the  question,  in  a 
manner  that  calls  for  an  answer,  I  will  give  him  an  answer  ;  and  i 
tell  him,  that,  holding  myself  to  be  the  humblest  of  the  members  here, 
I  yet  know  nothing  in  the  arm  of  his  friend  from  Missouri,  either 
alone,  or  when  aided  by  the  arm  of  his  friend  from  South  Carolina, 
that  need  deter  even  me  from  espousing  whatever  opinions  I  may 
choose  to  espouse,  from  debating  whenever  1  may  choose  to  debate,  oi 
from  speaking  whatever  I  may  see  fit  to  say,  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate. 

Sir,  when  uttered  as  matter  of  commendation  or  compliment,  I 
should  dissent  from  nothing  which  the  honorable  member  might  say 
of  his  friend.  Still  less  do  I  put  forth  any  pretensions  of  my  own. 
But,  when  put  to  me  as  matter  of  taunt,  I  throw  it  back,  and  say  to 
the  gentleman  that  he  could  possibly  say  nothing  less  likely  than  such 
a  comparison  to  wound  my  pride  of  personal  character.  The  anger 
of  its  tone  rescued  the  remark  from  intentional  irony,  which,  otherwise, 
probably,  would  have  been  its  general  acceptation.  But,  Sir,  if  it  be 
imagined  that,  by  this  mutual  quotation  and  commendation  ;  if  it  be 
supposed  that,  by  casting  the  characters  of  the  drama,  assigning  tc 
each  his  part,  —  to  one,  the  attack ;  to  another,  the  cry  of  onset ;  —  or, 
if  it  be  thought  that,  by  a  loud  and  empty  vaunt  of  anticipated  victory, 
any  laurels  are  to  be  won  here  ;  if  it  be  imagined,  especially,  that  any 
or  all  these  things  shall  shake  any  purpose  of  mine,  —  I  can  tell  the 
honorable  member,  once  for  all,  that  he  is  greatly  mistaken,  and  ihat 
he  is  dealing  with  one  of  whose  temper  and  character  he  has  yet  much 
to  learn.  Sir,  I  shall  not  allow  myself,  on  this  occasion,  —  I  hope  on  no 
occasion,  —  to  be  betrayed  into  any  loss  of  temper;  but  if  provoked,  as  I 
trust  I  never  shall  allow  myself  to  be,  into  crimination  and  recrimi- 
nation, the  honorable  member  may,  perhaps,  find  that  in  that  contest 
there  will  be  blows  to  take,  as  well  as  blows  to  give ;  that  others  can 
fttate  comparisons  as  significant,  at  least,  as  his  own  ;  and  that  his 
impunity  may,  perhaps,  demand  of  him  whatever  powers  of  taunt  and 
sarcasm  he  may  possess.  I  commend  1  im  to  a  prudent  husbandry  of 
his  resources. 


187.  SOUTH  CAROLINA  AND  MASSACHUSETTS,  1830  —  Webster 

The  eulogiura  pronounced  on  the  character  of  the  State  of  South 
Carolina,  by  the  honorable  gentleman,  for  her  Kevolutionary  and  othsr 
merits,  meets  my  hearty  concurrence.  I  shall  not  acknowledge  tlmt 
the  hoDorable  member  goes  before  me  in  regard  for  whatever  of  distin 


SENATORIAL.  —  WTBSTER. 


S31 


fiisKtfd  talent  or  distinguished  character  South  Carolina  has  produced, 
claii^  part  of  the  honor,  I  partake  in  the  pride  of  h<er  great  names. 
I  claim  them  for  countrymen,  one  and  all.  The  Laurenses,  the  Rutf 
'edges,  the  Pinckneys,  the  Sumpters,  the  Marions,  — Americans,  all,  — 
whose  fame  is  no  more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  State  lines,  than  their 
talents  and  patriotism  were  capable  of  being  circumscribed  within  the 
same  narrow  limits.  In  their  day  and  generation,  they  served  and 
honored  the  country,  and  the  whole  country  ;  and  their  renown  is  of 
the  treasures  of  the  whole  country.  Him  whose  honored  name  the 
gentleman  himself  bears,  —  does  he  suppose  me  less  capable  of  grati- 
tude for  his  patriotism,  or  sympathy  for  his  sufferings,  than  if  his  eyes 
had  first  opened  upon  the  light  in  Massachusetts,  instead  of  South 
Carolina  ?  Sir,  does  he  suppose  it  is  in  his  power  to  exhibit  a  Caro- 
liha  name  so  bright  as  to  produce  envy  in  my  bosom  ?  No,  Sir ; 
increased  gratification  and  delight,  rather. 

Sir,  I  thank  God,  that,  if  I  am  gifted  with  little  of  the  spirit  which 
is  said  to  be  able  to  raise  mortals  to  the  skies,  I  have  yet  none,  as  I 
trust,  of  that  other  spirit,  which  would  drag  angels  down.  When  I 
shall  be  found,  Sir,  in  my  place  here,  in  the  Senate,  or  elsewhere,  to 
sneer  at  public  merit,  because  it  happened  to  spring  up  beyond  the 
little  limits  of  my  own  State  or  neighborhood ;  when  I  refuse,  for 
any  such  cause,  or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due  to  American  talent, 
to  elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere  devotion  to  liberty  and  the  country  ; 
or,  if  I  see  an  uncommon  endowment  of  Heavon,  —  if  I  see  extraor- 
dinary capacity  and  virtue  in  any  son  of  the  South,  —  and  if,  moved 
by  local  prejudice,  or  gangrened  by  State  jealousy,  I  get  up  here  to 
abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair  from  his  just  character  and  just  fame,  may 
my  tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth  !  Sir,  let  m.e  recur  to 
pleasing  recollections ;  let  me  indulge  in  refreshing  remembrance  of 
the  past ;  let  me  remind  you  that,  in  early  times,  no  Staines  cherished 
greater  harmony,  both  of  principle  and  feeling,  than  Blassachusetts 
and  South  Carolina.  Would  to  God  that  harmony  might  again 
return !  Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  went  through  the  Revolution  , 
hand  in  hand  they  stood  round  the  administration  of  Washington,  and 
felt  his  own  great  arm  lean  on  them  for  support.  Unkind  feeling,  if 
it  exist,  —  alienation  and  distrust,  —  are  the  growth,  unnatural  to  such 
soils,  of  false  principles  since  sown.  They  are  weeds,  the  seeds  of 
which  that  same  great  arm  never  scattered. 

Mr.  President,  I  shall  enter  on  no  encomium  upon  Massachusetts; 
sh.^  needs  none.  There  she  is,  —  behold  her,  and  judge  for  yourselves. 
There  is  her  history,  —  the  ^  ^orld  knows  it  by  heart.  The  past,  at 
»oast,  is  secure.  There  is  B  -ston,  and  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and 
Bunker  Hill,  —  and  there  th  y  will  remain  forever.  The  bones  of  her 
sons,  fallen  in  the  great  stru  wle  for  Independence,  now  lie  mingled 
with  the  soil  of  every  State  from  New  England  to  Georgia,  —  and 
there  they  will  lie  forever.  And,  Sir,  where  American  liberty  raised 
its  first  voice,  and  where  its  youth,  was  nurtured  and  sustained,  there 
22 


338 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


t  still  lives,  in  the  strength  of  its  manhood,  and  full  of  its  origina 
spirit.  If  discord  and  disanion  shall  wound  it,  —  if  party  strife  and 
blind  ambition  shall  hawk  at  and  tear  it,  —  if  folly  and  madness 
if  uneasiness  under  salutary  and  necessary  restraints,  shall  succeed  to 
separate  it  from  that  Union  by  which  *alone  its  existence  is  made 
Bure,  — ^  it  will  stanO.,  in  the  end,  by  the  side  of  that  cradle  in  which  its 
infancy  was  rocked ;  it  will  stretch  forth  its  arm,  with  whatever  vigor 
it  may  sti^J  retain,  over  the  friends  who  gather  round  it ;  and  it  will 
fall  at  last,  n'  fall  it  must,  amidst  the  proudest  monuments  of  its  owd 
glory,  and  on  the  very  spot  of  its  origin  ! 


188.  LIBERTY  AND  UNION,  1830.  —  Webster. 

I  PROFESS,  Sir,  in  my  career  hitherto,  to  have  kept  steadily  in  view 
the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the  whole  country,  and  the  preservation 
of  our  Federal  Union.  It  is  to  that  Union  we  owe  our  safety  at 
home,  and  our  consideration  and  dignity  abroad.  It  is  to  that  Union 
we  are  chiefly  indebted  for  whatever  makes  us  most  proud  of  our 
country.  That  Union  we  reached  only  by  the  discipline  of  our 
virtues,  in  the  severe  school  of  adversity.  It  had  its  origin  in  the 
necessities  of  disordered  finance,  prostrate  commerce,  and  ruined 
credit.  Under  its  benign  influeiis'es,  these  great  interests  immedi- 
ately awoke,  as  from  the  dead,  and  sprang  forth  with  newness  of  life. 
Every  year  of  its  duration  has  teemed  with  fresh  proofs  of  its  utility 
and  its  blessings ;  and  although  our  territory  has  stretched  out  wider 
and  wider,  and  our  population  spread  further  and  further,  they  have 
not  outran  its  protection,  or  its  benefits.  It  has  been  to  us  all  a  copi- 
ous fountain  of  national,  social,  personal  happiness.  I  have  not 
allowed  myself,  Sir,  to  look  beyond  the  Union,  to  see  what  might  lie 
hidden  in  the  dark  recess  behind.  I  have  not  coolly  weighed  the 
chances  of  preserving  liberty,  when  the  bonds  that  unite  us  together 
shall  be  broken  asunder.  I  have  not  accustomed  myself  to  hang 
over  the  pr  ecipice  of  disunion,  to  see  whether,  with  my  short  sight,  I 
can  fathom  tiie  depth  of  the  abyss  below  ;  nor  could  I  regard  him  as 
a  safe  counsellor  in  the  affairs  of  this  Crovernment  whose  thoughts 
should  be  mainly  bent  on  considering,  not  how  the  Union  should  be 
Jjest  preserved,  but  how  tolerable  might  be  the  condition  of  tlie 
People  when  it  shall  be  broken  up  and  destroyed. 

While  the  Union  lasts,  we  have  high,  exciting,  gratifying  prospecta 
ipiead  out  before  us,  for  us  and  our  children.  Beyond  that  I  seek 
to  penetrate  the  veil.  God  grant  that,  in  my  day,  at  least,  that 
lurtain  may  not  rise !  God  grant  that  on  my  vision  never  may  be 
opened  what  lies  behind  !  When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold, 
for  the  last  time,  the  Sun  in  Heaven,  may  I  not  see  him  shining  on 
ho  broken  and  dishonored  fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Union  ;  o« 
V.fttes  severed,  discordant,  belligerent ;  on  a  land  rent  with  civil  feud»f 
'ff  drenched,  it  mav  be,  in  fraternal  blood !    Let  their  last  feeb'e  and 


BJflNATORIAL.  —  HAYNE. 


339 


Sngrving  glanct,  rather,  behold  the  gorgeous  Ensigii  of  the  llepullio, 
now  known  and  honored  throughout  the  earth,  still  full  high  advanced* 
its  arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original  lustre,  not  a  stripe 
erased  or  polluted,  nor  a  single  star  obscured,  —  bearing,  for  its  motto, 
no  such  miserable  interrogatory  as —  What  is  all  this  worth — nor 
ihose  other  words  of  delusion  and  folly  —  Liherty  first  and  Union 
afterwards,  —  but  everywhere,  spread  all  over  in  characters  of  living 
light,  blazing  on  all  its  ample  folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and 
over  the  land,  and  in  every  wind  under  the  whole  Heavens,  that  other 
sentiment,  dear  to  every  true  American  heart  —  Liberty  and  Union, 
now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable  ! 


189.    ON  MR.  WL'BSTER'S  DEFENCE  OP  NEW  ENGLAND,  Jan.  21,  1830.  -  Hayne. 

Robert  Y.  Fayne  was  born  near  Cliarleston,  S.  C,  Nov.  10,  1T91,  and  died  Sept.  24,  1839 
He  attained  great  distinction  at  the  bar,  and  received  the  highest  honors  in  the  gift  of  his 
native  State.  lie  was  fluent  and  graceful  in  speech,  and  was  esteemed  one  of  the  most  eloquent 
men  of  his  time. 

The  hrnorable  gentleman  from  Massachusetts,  after  deliberating  a 
whole  night  upon  his  course,  comes  into  this  chamber  to  vindicate  New 
England ;  and,  instead  of  making  up  his  issue  with  the  gentleman 
from  Missouri,  on  the  charges  which  he  had  preferred,  chooses  to 
consider  me  as  the  author  of  those  charges ;  and,  losing  sight  entirely 
of  that  gentleman,  selects  me  as  his  adversary,  and  pours  out  all  the 
vials  of  his  mighty  wrath  upon  my  devoted  head.  Nor  is  he  willing 
to  stop  there.  He  goes  on  to  assail  the  institutions  and  policy  of  the 
South,  and  calls  in  question  the  principles  and  conduct  of  the  State 
which  I  have  the  honor  to  represent.  When  I  find  a  gentleman  of 
mature  age  and  experience,  of  acknowledged  talents,  and  profound 
Bagacity,  pursuing  a  course  like  this,  declining  the  contest  offered  from  the 
West,  and  making  war  upon  the  unoffending  South,  I  must  believe  — 
I  am  bound  to  believe  —  he  has  some  object  in  view  which  he  has  not 
ventured  to  disclose.  Mr.  President,  why  is  this  ?  Has  the  gentle- 
man discovered,  in  former  controversies  with  the  gentleman  from  Mis- 
souri, that  he  is  over-matched  by  that  Senator?  And  does  he  hope 
for  an  easy  victory  over  a  more  feeble  adversary  Has  the  gentle- 
man's distempered  fancy  been  disturbed  by  gloomy  forebodings  of 
new  alliances  to  be  formed,"  at  which  he  hinted  ?  Has  the  ghost 
yf  the  murdered  Coalition  come  back,  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  to 
"  sear  the  eye-balls  of  the  gentleman,"  and  will  it  not  "  down  at  1  is 
bidding "  ?  Are  dark  visions  of  broken  hopes,  and  honors  lost  for- 
ever, still  floating  before  his  heated  imagination  ?  Sir,  if  it  be  his 
abject  to  thrust  me  between  the  gentleman  from  Missouri  and  himself, 
m  order  to  rescue  the  East  from  the  contest  it  has  provoked  with  the 
West,  he  shall  not  be  gratified.  Sir,  I  will  not  be  dragged  into  the 
defence  of  my  friend  from  Missouri.  The  South  shall  not  be  forced 
into  a  conflict  not  its  own.  The  gentleman  from  Misscari  is  able  tc 
fighl  his  own  battles     The  gallant  West  needs  no  aid  from  the  South 


340 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


to  repel  dnj  attack  whieli  may  be  made  on  tliem  from  any  quartei 
uet  the  gentleman  from  Massaclmsetts  controvert  the  facts  and  argu« 
ments  of  the  gentleman  from  Missouri,  if  he  can;  and,  if  he  win  the 
victory,  let  him  wear  the  honors.  I  shall  not  deprive  him  of  hii 
laurels. 


190.  THE  SOUTH  DURING  THE  REVOLUTION.  -  Hayne,  1830., 

If  there  be  one  State  in  the  Union,  Mr.  President  (and  I  say  it 
not  in  a  boastful  spirit),  that  may  challenge  comparisons  with  any 
other,  for  an  uniform,  zealous,  ardent,  and  uncalculating  devotion  to 
the  Union,  that  State  is  South  Carolina.  Sir,  from  the  very  cora« 
mencement  of  the  Revolution,  up  to  this  hour,  there  is  no  sacrifice, 
however  great,  she  has  not  cheerfully  made,  —  no  service  she  has  ever 
hesitated  to  perform.  She  has  adhered  to  you  in  your  prosperity ; 
but  in  your  adversity  she  has  clung  to  you  with  more  than  filial  affec- 
tion. No  matter  what  was  the  condition  of  her  domestic  affairs,  — 
though  deprived  of  her  resources,  divided  by  parties,  or  surrounded 
with  difficulties,  —  the  call  of  the  country  has  been  to  her  as  the  voice 
nf  God.  Domestic  discord  ceased  at  the  sound ;  every  man  became 
at  once  reconciled  to  his  brethren,  and  the  sons  of  Carolina  were  all 
seen  crowding  together  to  the  temple,  bringing  their  gifts  to  the  altar 
of  their  common  country. 

What,  Sir,  was  the  conduct  of  the  South  during  the  Revolution  ? 
Sir,  I  honor  New  England  for  her  conduct  in  that  glorious  struggle. 
But,  great  as  is  the  praise  which  belongs  to  her,  I  think  at  least  equal 
honor  is  due  to  the  South.  They  espoused  the  quarrel  of  their 
brethren,  with  a  generous  zeal,  which  did  not  suffer  them  to  stop  tc 
calculate  their  interest  in  the  dispute.  Favorites  of  the  mother 
country,  possessed  of  neither  ships  nor  seamen  to  create  a  commercial 
rivalship,  they  might  have  found  in  their  situation  a  guarantee  that 
their  trade  would  be  forever  fostered  and  protected  by  Great  Britain 
But,  trampling  on  all  considerations  either  of  interest  or  of  safety 
they  rushed  into  the  conflict,  and,  fighting  for  principle,  perilled  all,  id 
the  sacred  cause  of  freedom.  Never  was  there  exhibited,  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  higher  examples  of  noble  daring,  dreadful  suffering 
and  heroic  endurance,  than  by  the  Whigs  of  Carolina,  during  thp 
Revolution.  The  whole  State,  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea,  wai 
overrun  by  an  overwhelming  force  of  enemy.  The  fruits  of  industry 
perished  on  the  spot  where  they  were  produced,  or  were  consumed  by 
the  foe.  The  "  plains  of  Carolina  "  drank  up  the  most  precious  blood 
of  her  citizens.  Black  and  smoking  ruins  marked  the  places  which 
had  been  the  habitations  of  her  children  !  Driven  from  their  homes, 
into  the  gloomy  and  almost  impenetrable  swamps,  even  there  the 
spirit  of  liberty  survived;  and  South  Carolina,  sustained  by  the 
example  of  her  Sumpters  and  her  Marions,  proved,  by  her  conduct 
that  though  her  soil  might  be  overrun,  the  spirit  of  1  ter  People  wai 
invincible. 


SENATORIAL  —  HaINE. 


S4J 


m  THE  SOUTH  DURING  THE  WAR  OP  lS12.  —  Haym  1830 

i  COME  now  to  the  war  of  1812,  —  a  war  which,  I  well  remen^ber, 
was  called,  m  deiision  (while  its  event  was  doubtful),  the  Southern 
war,  and  sometimes  the  Carolina  war ;  but  which  is  now  universally 
acknowledged  to  have  done  more  for  the  honor  and  prosperity  of  the 
country  than  all  other  events  in  our  history  put  together.  What>  Sir, 
were  the  objects  of  that  war  ?  "  Free  trade  and  sailors'  rights  !  "  It 
was  for  the  protection  of  Northern '  shipping,  and  New  England  sea- 
men, that  the  country  flew  to  arms.  What  interest  had  the  South  in 
that  contest  ?  If  they  had  sat  down  coldly  to  calculate  the  value  of 
their  interests  involved  in  it,  they  would  have  found  that  they  had 
3verything  to  lose,  and  nothing  to  gain.  But,  Sir,  with  that  generous 
devotion  to  country  so  characteristic  of  the  South,  they  only  asked  if 
the  rights  of  any  portion  of  their  fellow-citizens  had  been  invaded ; 
and  when  told  that  Northern  &liij/s  and  New  England  seamen  had  been 
arrested  on  the  common  high^ii/^ay  of  Nations,  they  felt  that  the  honor 
of  their  country  was  asb<j ded  *  and.  acting  on  that  exalted  sentiment 
"  which  feels  a  stain  like  a  vvouii-.l,"  they  resolved  to  seek,  in  open  war, 
for  a  redress  of  those  injuries  which  it  did  not  become  freemen  to 
endure.  Sir,  the  whole  South,  animated  as  by  a  common  impulse, 
cordially  united  in  declaring  and  promoting  that  war.  South  Carolina 
sent  to  your  councils,  as  the  advocates  and  supporters  of  that  war,  the 
noblest  of  her  sons.  How  they  fulfilled  that  trust,  let  a  grateful 
country  tell.  Not  a  measure  was  adopted,  not  a  battle  fought,  not  a 
victory  won,  which  contributed,  in  any  degree,  to  the  success  of  that 
war,  to  which  Southern  councils  and  Southern  valor  did  not  largely 
contribute.  Sir,  since  South  Carolina  is  assailed,  I  must  be  suffered 
to  speak  it  to  her  praise,  that,  at  the  very  moment  when,  in  one 
quarter,  we  heard  it  solemnly  proclaimed  "  that  it  did  not  become  a 
religious  and  moral  People  to  rejoice  at  the  victories  of  our  Army  or 
our  Navy,"  her  Legislature  unanimously 

"  Resolved,  That  we  will  cordially  support  the  Government  in  tha 
vigorous  prosecution  of  the  war,  until  a  peace  can  be  obtained  on  honor- 
able terms ;  and  we  will  cheerfully  submit  to  every  privation  that  may 
be  required  of  us,  by  our  Government,  for  the  accomplishment  of  thi? 
object." 

South  'Carolina  redeemed  that  pledge.  She  threw  open  her  Treat 
ary  to  the  Government.  She  put  at  the  absolute  disposal  of  th< 
officers  of  the  United  States  all  that  she  possessed,  —  her  men,  her 
money,  and  her  arms.  She  appropriated  half  a  million  of  dollars,  on 
Her  own  account,  in  defence  of  her  maritime  frontier ;  ordered  a  brig- 
ade of  State  troops  to  be  raised ;  and,  when  left  to  protect  herself  bj 
her  own  means,  never  suffered  the  enemy  to  touch  her  soil,  without 
being  instantly  driven  off  or  captured.  Such,  Sir,  was  the  conduct  of 
the  South  — such  the  conduct  of  my  own  State  —  in  that  dark  honi 
which  tried  men'«  souls !  " 


•IflE  STANDAllD  SPEAlftER 


'92.  DEFALCATION  AND  RETRENCHMENT,         ~- S.  S.  Prentiss.    B  316}  a  1M» 

Since  the  avowal,  Mr.  Chairman,  of  that  unprincipled  and  barbarian 
motto,  that  "  to  the  victors  belong  the  spoils,"  office,  which  was 
intended  for  the  service  and  benefit  of  the  People,  has  become  but  the 
plunder  of  party.  Patronage  is  waved  like  a  huge  magnet  over  the 
land ;  and  demagogues,  like  -iron-filings,  attracted  by  a  law  of  their 
aature,  gather  and  cluster  around  its  poles.  Never  yet  lived  ths 
demagogue  who  would  not  take  office.  The  whole  frame  of  our  Gov- 
ernment —  all  the  institutions  of  the  country  —  are  thus  prostituted 
to  the  uses  of  party.  Officio  is  conferred  as  the  reward  of  partisan 
service ;  and  what  is  the  consequence  ?  The  incumbents,  being  taught 
that  all  moneys  in  their  possession  belong,  not  to  thu  People,  but  to 
the  party,  it  requires  but  small  exertion  of  casuistry  io  bring  them  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  have  a  right  to  retain  what  they  may  conceive 
to  be  the  value  of  their  political  services,  —  just  as  a  la  <vyer  holds  back 
his  commissions. 

Sir,  I  have  given  you  but  three  or  four  cases  of  defalcations. 
Would  time  permit,  I  could  give  you  a  hundred.  Like  the  fair 
Sultana  of  the  Oriental  legends,  I  could  go  on  for  a  thousand  and 
one  nights ;  and  even  as  in  those  Eastern  stories,  so  in  the  chronicles 
of  the  office-holders,  the  tale  would  ever  be  of  heaps  of  gold,  massive 
ingots,  uncounted  riches.  Why,  Sir,  Aladdin's  wonderful  lamp  was 
nothing  to  it.  They  seem  to  possess  the  identical  cap  of  Fortunatus. 
Some  wish  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  some  for  a  hundred  thousand, 
and  some  for  a  million,  —  and  behold,  it  lies  in  glittering  heaps  before 
them !    Not  even 

"  The  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl  and  gold  *' 

in  such  lavish  abundance,  as  does  this  Administration  upon  its  fbl« 
lowers.  Pizarro  held  not  forth  more  dazzling  lures  to  his  robber  band, 
when  he  led  them  to  the  conquest  of  the  "  Children  of  the  Sun." 

And  now  it  is  proposed  to  make  up  these  losses  through  defaulters 
by  retrenchment !  And  what  do  you  suppose  are  to  be  the  subjects 
of  this  new  and  sudden  economy  ?  What  branches  of  the  public 
service  are  to  be  lopped  ofi",  on  account  of  the  licentious  rapacity  of  the 
office-holders  ?  I  am  too  indignant  to  tell  you.  Look  into  the  report 
of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  you  will  find  out.  Well,  Sir. 
what  are  they  ?  Pensions,  harbors,  and  light-houses  !  Yes,  Sir ;  these 
ire  recommended  as  proper  subjects  for  retrenchment.  First  of  all 
the  scarred  veterans  of  the  Revolution  are  to  be  deprived  of  a  portion  of 
the  scanty  pittance  doled  out  to  them  by  the  cold  charity  of  the  country. 
How  many  of  them  will  you  have  to  send  forth  as  beggars  on  the  very 
soil  which  they  wrenched  from  the  hand  of  tyranny,  to  make  up  the 
amount  of  even  one  of  these  splendid  robberies  ?  How  many  harbors 
will  it  take,  —  those  improvements  dedicated  no  less  to  humanity  than 
to  interest,  —  those  nests  of  conmierce  to  which  the  canvas-winged 
birdf  of  the  ocean  flock  for  safety  ?    How  many  light-hous<\8  will  i\ 


SENATORIAL.  NAYIOR 


kike  ?  How  many  of  those  bright  eyes  of  the  C/ean  are  to  be  put 
out  ?  How  many  of  those  faithful  sentinels,,  who  stand  along  our 
rocky  coast,  and,  peering  far  out  in  the  darkness,  give  timely  warning* 
*o  the  hardj  mariner  where  the  lee-shore  threatens,  —  how  many  of 
these,  I  ask,  are  to  be  discharged  from  their  humane  service  ?  Why, 
the  proposition  is  almost  impious  !  I  should  as  soon  wish  to  put  out  the 
stars  of  Heaven  !  Sir,  my  blood  boils  at  the  cold-blooded  atrocity  witk 
which  the  Administration  proposes  thus  to  sacrifice  the  very  family 
jewels  of  the  country,  to  pay  for  the  consequences  of  its  own  profligacy  5 


193.  AMERICAN  LABORERS.  — C.  C.  Nay  lor. 

The  Gentleman,  Sir,  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and  tendency  of 
Northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of  Northern  character.  He 
has  forgotten  the  history  of  his  country.  Preach  insurrection  to  thr 
Northern  laborers !  Who  are  the  Northern  laborers !  The  historj 
of  your  country  is  their  history.  The  renown  of  your  country  is  their 
renown.  The  brightness  of  their  doings  is  emblazoned  on  its  every 
page.  Blot  from  your  annals  the  words  and  the  doings  of  Northern 
laborers,  and  the  history  of  your  country  presents  but  a  universal 
blank.  Sir,  who  was  he  that  disarmed  the  Thunderer  ;  wrested  from 
his  grasp  the  bolts  of  Jove ;  calmed  the  troubled  ocean ;  became  the 
central  sun  of  the  philosophical  system  of  his  age,  shedding  his 
brightness  and  effulgence  on  the  whole  civilized  world  ;  whom  the 
great  and  mighty  of  the  earth  delighted  to  honor ;  who  participated 
in  the  achievement  of  your  independence,  prominently  assisted  in 
moulding  your  free  institutions,  and  the  beneficial  effects  of  whost: 
wisdom  will  be  felt  to  the  last  moment  of  "  recorded  time  "?  Who, 
Sir,  I  ask,  was  he  ?  A  Northern  laborer,  —  a  Yankee  tallow-chandler's 
son,  —  a  printer's  runaway  boy  ' 

And  who,  let  me  ask  the  honorable  Gentleman,  who  was  he  that, 
in  the  days  of  our  Revolution,  led  forth  a  Northern  army,  —  yes,  an 
army  of  Northern  laborers,  —  and  aided  the  chivalry  of  South  Carolina 
in  their  defence  against  British  aggression,  drove  the  spoilers  fi-om 
their  firesides,  and  redeemed  her  fair  fields  from  foreign  invaders' 
WTio  was  he  ?  A  Northern  laborer,  a  Rhode  Island  blacksmith,  —  the 
gallant  General  Greene,  —  who  left  his  hammer  and  his  forge,  and 
went  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer  in  the  battle  for  our  independ- 
ence !    And  will  you  preach  insurrection  to  men  like  these  ? 

Sir,  our  country  is  full  of  the  achieveraents  of  Northern  laborers ! 
Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Princeton,  and  Trenton,  and 
Saratx5ga,  and  Bunker  Hill,  but  in  the  North  ?  And  what.  Sir,  na* 
ehed  an  imperishable  renown  on  the  never-dying  names  of  those 
hallowed  spots,  but  the  blood  aiid  the  struggles,  the  high  iaring,  and 
patriotism,  and  sublime  courage,  of  Northern  laborers  ?  The  whok 
North  is  an  everlasting  monument  of  the  freedom,  virtue  'x-telljgeiije. 
and  indomitable  independence,  of  Northern  lalorers!  Go.  Sir,  go 
preach  insurrection  to  men  like  these  ' 


IHE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


The  fortitude  of  the  men  of  the  North,  under  int<  nse  Buffering  Ibi 
liberty's  sake,  has  been  almost  god-like !  History  has  so  recorded 
it  Who  comprised  that  gallant  army,  without  food,  without  pay^ 
shelterless,  shoeless,  penniless,  and  almost  naked,  in  that  dreadfu), 
winter,  -—  the  midnight  of  our  Revolution,  —  whose  wanderings  could 
be  trac(?d  by  their  blood-tracks  in  the  snow  ;  whom  no  arcs  could 
seduce,  no  appeal  lead  astray,  no  sufferings  disaffect ;  but  who,  true  to 
their  country  and  its  holy  cause,  continued  to  fight  the  good  fight  of 
liberty,  until  it  finally  triumphed  ?  Who,  Sir,  were  these  men  9 
Why,  Northern  laborers  I  —  yes,  Sir,  Northern  laborers  !    W^ho,  Sir,, 

were  Roger  Sherman  and  .    But  it  is  idle  to  enumei-ate.  Tc 

name  the  Northern  laborers  who  have  distinguished  themselves,  and 
iiliistrated  the  history  of  their  country,  would  require  days  of  the  time 
of  this  House.  Nor  is  it  necessary.  Posterity  will  do  them  jastice 
Their  deeds  have  been  recorded  in  characters  of  fire  ! 


194.    MESITS  OF  FULTON'S  INVENTION,  1838.  —  O^-rfen  Hoffman. 

This  House  and  the  world  have  been  told  that  Robert  Fulton  was 
n3t  the  inventor  of  steam  navigation.  England  asserts  that  it  is  to  a 
Scotchman  that  the  honor  of  this  discovery  is  due,  and  that  it  was  the 
Clyde  and  the  Thames  that  first  witnessed  the  triumphant  success  of 
this  wonderful  invention.  France,  through  her  National  Institute, 
declares  that  it  was  the  Seine.  Even  Spain,  degraded  and  enslaved, 
roused  by  the  voice  of  emulation,  has  looked  forth  from  her  cloistered 
halls  of  superstition,  and  declared  that  in  the  age  of  Charles,  in  the 
presence  of  her  Court  and  nobles,  this  experiment  was  successfully 
tried.  But  America,  proudly  seated  upon  the  enduring  monument 
which  Fulton  has  reared,  smiles  at  these  rival  claims,  and,  secure  in 
her  own,  looks  down  serenely  upon  these  billows  of  strife,  which  break 
at  the  base  of  her  throne. 

But  it  has  been  denied,  in  this  debate,  that  any  other  credit  than 
that  of  good  luck  is  due  lo  Fulton  for  his  invention.  Gentlemen  would 
have  us  suppose  that  good  luck  is  the  parent  of  all  that  we  admire  in 
science  or  in  arms.  If  this  be  so,  why,  then,  indeed,  what  a  bubble  is 
reputation  !  How  vain  and  how  idle  are  the  anxious  days  and  sleepless 
nights  devoted  to  the  service  of  one's  country  !  Admit  this  argument 
and  you  strip  from  the  brow  of  the  scholar  his  bay,  and  from  those  of 
the  statesman  and  soldier  their  laurel.  Whj  do  you  deck  with  chapleta 
U\e  Btatue  of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  if  good  luck,  and  good  luck 
alone,  be  all  that  commends  him  to  our  gratitude  and  love  ?  A  mem- 
ber of  this  House  retorts,  "  Bad  luck  would  have  made  Washington  a 
traitor."  Ay,  but  in  whose  estimation?  Did  the  great  and  holy 
principles  which  produced  and  governed  our  Revolution  depend,  for 
their  righteousness  and  truth,  upon  success  or  defeat  ?  Would  Wash- 
ington, had  he  suffered  as  a  rebel  on  the  scaffold,  —  would  Washingtoa 
have  been  regarded  as  a  traitor  by  Warren,  and  Hancock,  and  (jirceno 
and  Hamilton,  —  by  the  crowd  of  patriots  who  enconipa&sed  hi'rs  part 


SENATORIAL.  —  CUSHING 


S45 


oeiffe  of  hid  toil  and  sharers  of  his  patriotism  ^  Was  it  good  luck  that 
impelled  Columbus,  through  discouragement^  conspiracy  and  poverty, 
to  persevere  in  his.  paih  of  danger,  until  this  Western  world  blessed  hia 
sight,  and  rewarded  his  energy  and  daring  ?  Does  the  gentbman 
emulate  the  glory  of  the  third  King  of  Rome,  Tullus  Hostiiius,  —  and 
would  he  erect  in  our  own  land  a  temple  to  Fortune  ?  It  camot  be 
that  he  would  seriously  promulgate  such  views ;  —  that  he  would  take 
from  human  renown  all  that  gives  it  dignity  and  worth,  by  making  it 
depend  less  on  the  virtue  of  the  individual  than  on  his  luck  ! 


195.    SECTIONAL  SERVICES  IN  THE  LAST  WAIL. —Caleb  Cushing. 

The  gentleman  from  South  Carolina  taunts  us  with  counting  the 
costs  of  that  war  in  which  the  liberties  and  honor  of  the  country,  and 
the  interests  of  the  North,  as  he  asserts,  were  forced  to  go  elsewhere 
for  their  defence.  Will  he  sit  down  with  me  and  count  the  cost  now  ? 
Will  he  reckon  up  how  much  of  treasure  the  State  of  South  Carolina 
expended  in  that  war,  and  how  much  the  State  of  Massachusetts  ?  — 
how  much  of  the  blood  of  either  State  was  poured  out  on  sea  or  land  ? 
I  challenge  the  gentleman  to  the  test  of  patriotism,  which  the  army 
roll,  the  navy  lists,  and  the  treasury  books,  aiford.  Sir,  they  who 
revile  us  for  our  opposition  to  the  last  war  have  looked  only  to  the 
surface  of  things.  They  little  know  the  extremities  of  suffering 
which  the  People  of  Massachusetts  bore  at  that  period,  out  of  attach- 
ment to  the  Union,  —  their  families  beggared,  their  fathers  and  sons 
bleeding  in  camps,  or  pining  in  foreign  prisons.  They  forget  that  not 
a  field  was  marshalled,  on  this  side  of  the  mountains,  in  which  the  men 
of  Massachusetts  did  not  play  their  part,  as  became  their  sires,  and 
their  "  blood  fetched  from  mettle  of  war  proof."  They  battled  and 
bled,  wherever  battle  was  fought  or  blood  drawn. 

Nor  only  by  land.  I  ask  the  gentleman.  Who  fought  your  naval 
battles  in  the  last  war  ?  Who  led  you  on  to  victory  after  victory,  on 
the  ocean  and  the  lakes  ?  Whose  was  the  triumphant  prowess  before 
which  the  Ked  Cross  of  England  paled  with  unwonted  shames  ?  Were 
they  not  men  of  New  England  ?  Were  these  not  foremost  in  those 
maritime  encounters  which  humbled  the  pride  and  power  of  Great 
Britain  ?  I  appeal  to  my  colleague  before  me  from  our  common  county 
of  brave  old  Essex,  —  I  appeal  to  my  respected  colleagues  from  the 
«hores  of  the  Old  Colony.  Was  there  a  village  or  a  hamlet  on  Massa- 
chusetts Bay,  which  did  not  gather  its  hardy  seamen  to  man  the  gun- 
i*.^jks  of  your  shi  ps  of  war  ?  Did  they  not  rally  to  the  batl^le,  as  men 
dock  to  a  feast  ? 

I  beseech  the  House  to  pardon  me,  if  I  may  have  kindled,  on  this; 
object,  into  something  of  unseemly  ardor.  I  cannot  sit  tamely  by,  in 
Qumble  acquiescent  silence,  when  reflections,  which  I  know  to  be 
unjust,  are  cast  on  the  faith  and  honor  of  Massachusetts.  Had  I  suf- 
fered them  to  pass  without  admonition,  I  should  have  deemed  that  th€ 
disembodied  spirits  of  her  departed  children,  from  their  ashea  mingleci 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


(villi  the  dust  every  stricken  field  of  the  Revolution,  from  theii 
,/ones  mouldering  to  the  consecrated  earth  of  Bunker  «  Hill,  of  Saratoga, 
jf  Monmouth,  —  would  start  up  in  visible  shape  before  me,  to  cry  shamt 
on  me,  their  recreant  countryman  !  Sir,  1  have  roamed  through  th< 
world,  to  find  hearts  nowhere  warmer  than  hers,  soldiers  nowhere 
braver,  patriots  nowhere  purer,  wives  and  mothers  nowhere  truer, 
maidens  nowhere  lovelier,  green  valleys  and  bright  rivers  nowhere 
greener  or  brighter ;  and  I  will  not  be  silent,  when  I  hear  her  patriot 
ism  or  her  truth  questioned  with  so  much  as  a  whisper  of  detraction. 
Living,  I  will  defend  her ;  dying,  I  would  pause,  in  my  last  expiring 
breath,  to  utter  a  prayer  of  fond  remembrance  for  my  native  New 
England  ! 


195.    BARBARITY  OF  NATIONAL  HATREDS.  — iZw/ws  CAoaZe 

Mr.  President,  we  must  distinguish  a  little.  That  there  exists  iu 
this  country  an  intense  sentiment  of  nationality  ;  a  cherished  energetic 
feeling  and  consciousness  of  our  independent  and  separate  national 
existence  ;  a  feeling  that  we  have  a  transcendent  destiny  to  fulfil,  which 
we  mean  to  fulfil ;  a  great  work  to  do,  which  we  know  how  to  do,  and 
are  able  to  do  ;  a  career  to  run,  up  which  we  hope  to  ascend,  till  we 
stand  on  the  steadfast  and  glittering  summits  of  the  world ;  a  feeling, 
that  we  are  surrounded  and  attended  by  a  noble  historical  group  of 
competitors  and  rivals,  the  other  Nations  of  the  earth,  all  of  whom  we 
hope  to  overtake,  and  even  to  distance  ;  —  such  a  sentiment  as  this 
exists,  perhaps,  in  the  character  of  this  People.  And  this  I  do  not  dis- 
courage, I  do  not  condemn.  But,  Sir,  that  among  these  useful  and 
beautiful  S3ntiments,  predominant  among  them,  there  exists  a  temper 
of  hostility  towards  this  one  particular  Nation,  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
amount  to  a  habit,  a  trait,  a  national  passion,  —  to  amount  to  a  state 
of  feeling  which  "  is  to  be  regretted,"  and  which  really  threatens  another 
war,  —  this  I  earnestly  and  confidently  deny.  I  would  not  bear  your 
enemy  say  this.  Sir,  the  indulgence  of  such  a  sentiment  by  the  People 
supposes  them  to  have  forgotten  one  of  the  counsels  of  Washington. 
Call  to  mind  the  ever  seasonable  wisdom  of  the  Farewell  Address : 
"  The  Nation  which  indulges  towards  another  an  habitual  hatred,  or 
an  habitual  fondness,  is,  in  some  degree,  a  slave.  It  is  a  slave  to  ita 
animosity,  or  to  its  afiection,  either  of  which  is  sufficient  to  lead  it 
astray  from  it3  duty  and  its  interest." 

No,  Sir  !  no.  Sir !  We  are  above  all  this.  Let  the  Highland  clans- 
aian,  half  naked,  half  civilized,  half  blinded  by  the  peat-smoke  of  hia 
oavern,  have  his  hereditary  enemy  and  his  hereditary  enmity,  and 
keep  the  keen,  deep,  and  precious  hatred,  set  on  fire  of  hell,  alive,  if  he 
can  ;  let  the  North  American  Indian  have  his,  .and  hand  it  down  from 
father  to  son,  by  Heaven  knows  what  symbols  of  alligator?,  and  rattle- 
anakcs,  and  war-clubs  smeared  with  vermilion  and  entwined  witli 
scarlet ;  let  such  a  country  as  Poland,  —  cloven  to  the  earth,  th< 
armed  heel  on  the  radiant  forehead,  her  body  dead,  her  s(  ul  incapable 


SENATORIAL.  CASS. 


X)  die  —  let  her  remember  the  "  wrongs  of  days  long  past  "  let  the 
iost  and  wanderiiig  tribes  of  Israel  remember  theirs  —  the  manline^ 
and  the  sympathy  of  the  world  may  allow  or  pardon  this  to  them ;  — 
but  shall  America,  young,  free,  prosperous,  just  setting  out  on  tha 
higkway- of  Heaven,  "decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she 
just  begins  to  move  in,  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life  and 
joy,"  shall  she  be  supposed  to  be  polluting  and  corroding  her  noble  and 
happy  heart,  by  moping  over  old  stories  of  stamp  act,  and  tea  tax,  and 
the  firing  of  the  Leopard  upon  the  Chesapeake  in  a  time  of  peace  ? 
X:),  Sir  !  no.  Sir!  a  thousand  times,  no!  Why,  I  protest  I  thought 
all  that  had  been  settled.  I  thought  two  wars  had  settled  it  all.  What 
else  was  so  much  good  blood  shed  for,  on  so  many  more  than  classical 
fields  of  Revolutionary  glory  ?  For  what  was  so  much  good  blood  more 
lately  shed,  at  Lundy's  Lane,  at  Fort  Erie,  before  and  behind  the  lines 
at  New  Orleans,  on  the  deck  of  the  Constitution,  on  the  deck  of  the 
Java,  on  the  lakes,  on  the  sea,  but  to  settle  exactly  these  "  wrongs  of 
past  days  "  ?  And  have  we  come  back  sulky  and  sullen  from  the  very 
field  of  honor  ?    For  my  country,  I  deny  it. 

Mr.  President,  let  me  say  that,  in  my  judgment,  this  notion  of  a 
national  enmity  of  feeling  towards  Great  Britain  belongs  to  a  past  ago 
of  our  history.  My  younger  countrymen  are  unconscious  of  it.  They 
disavow  it.  That  generation  in  whose  opinions  and  feelings  the  actions 
and  the  destiny  of  the  next  are  unfolded,  as  the  tree  in  the  germ, 
do  not  at  all  comprehend  your  meaning,  nor  your  fears,  nor  your 
regrets.  We  are  born  to  happier  feelings.  We  look  to  England  as 
we  look  to  France.  We  look  to  them,  from  our  new  world,  —  not 
unrenowned,  yet  a  new  world  still,  —  and  the  blood  mounts  to  our 
cheeks ;  our  eyes  swim  ;  our  voices  are  stifled  with  emulousness  of  sc 
much  glory ;  their  trophies  will  not  .let  us  sleep  :  but  there  is  no 
hatred  at  all ;  no  hatred,  —  no  barbarian  memory  of  wrongs,  for  which 
brave  men  have  made  the  last  expiation  to  . the  brave. 


197.  ON  PRECEDENTS  IN  GOVERNMENT,  ISbl.  — Lewis  Cass. 

Mr.  President,  eloquent  allusions  have  been  made  here  to  the 
ominous  condition  of  Europe.  And,  truly,  it  is  sujficiently  threaten- 
ing to  fix  the  regard  of  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world.  Elements  are 
at  work  there  whose  contact  and  contest  must,  ere  long,  produce 
explosions  whose  consequences  no  man  can  foresee.  The  cloud  may 
as  yet  be  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  like  that  seen  by  the  proiDhet 
from  Mount  Carmel ;  but  it  will  overspread  the  whole  hemisphere,  and 
burst,  perhaps  in  ruins,  upon  the  social  and  political  systems  of  the 
Old  World.  Antagonistic  principles  are  doing  their  work  there.  The 
conflict  cannot  be  avoided.  The  desire  of  man  to  govern  himself,  and 
the  determination  of  rulers  to  govern  him,  are  now  face  to  face,  and 
must  meet  in  the  strife  of  action,  as  they  have  met  in  the  strife  of 
opinion.  It  requires  a  wiser  or  a  rasher  man  than  I  am  to  undertake 
to  foretell  when  and  how  this  great  battle  will  be  fought ;  but  it  is  ai 


S48 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


sure  to  come  as  is  the  sun  to  rise  again  which  is  now  d  3sconding  to  th« 
horizon.  What  the  free  Governments  of  the  world  may  find  it  propet 
to  do,  when  this  great  struggle  truly  begins,  I  leave  to  those  upoc 
whom  will  devolve  the  duty  and  the  responsibility  of  decision. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  the  existing  generation  stands  upon  the 
shouldei^s  of  its  predecessors.  Its  visual  horizon  is  enlarged  from  thus 
elevation.  We  have  the  experience  of  those  who  have  gone  before  uSj 
and  our  own,  too.  We  are  able  to  judge  for  ourselves,  without  blindly 
following  in  their  footsteps.  There  is  nothing  stationary  in  the  world 
Moral  and  intellectual  as  well  as  physical  scie-nces  are  in  a  state  oi 
progress ;  or,  rather,  we  are  marching  onwards  in  the  investigation  ot 
their  true  principles.  _  It  is  presumptuous,  at  any  time,  to  say  that 
'■'Now  is  the  best  possible  condition  of  human  nature;  let  us  sit  still 
and  be  satisfied ;  there  is  nothing  more  to  learn."  I  believe  in  no  such 
doctrine.  I  believe  we  are  always  learning.  We  have  a  right  to 
examine  for  ourselves.  In  fact,  it  is  our  duty  to  do  so.  Still,  Sir,  J 
would  not  rashly  reject  the  experience  of  the  world,  any  more  than  1 
would  blindly  follow  it.  I  have  no  such  idea.  I  have  no  wish  to 
prostrate  all  the  barriers  raised  by  wisdom,  and  to  let  in  upon  us  an 
jDundation  of  many  such  opinions  as  have  been  promulgated  in  the 
present  age.  But  far  be  it  from  me  to  adopt,  as  a  principle  of  con- 
duct, that  nothing  is  to  be  done  except  what  has  been  done  before,  and 
precisely  as  it  was  then  done.    So  much  for  precedents ! 


198.  INTERVENTION  IN  THE  WARS  OP  EUROPE,  1852.  —  J^eremioA  CZeTWCw*. 

Washington  has  said :  "  There  can  be  no  greater  error  than  to 
expect  or  calculate  upon  any  real  favors  from  nation  to  nation.  It  is 
an  illusion  which  experience  must  cure,  and  which  a  just  pride  ought 
to  discard."  There  is  a  deep  wisdom  in  this ;  and  he  who  disregards, 
or  treats  it  lightly,  wants  the  highest  attribute  of  a  statesman.  We 
can  expect  nothing  as  a  favor  from  other  nations,  and  none  have  a 
right  to  expect  favors  from  us.  Our  interference,  if  we  interfere  at 
all,  must  be  dictated  by  interest ;  and,  therefore,  I  ask,  in  what  pos- 
sible manner  can  we  be  benefited  ?  Russia  has  done  us  no  injury  ; 
we  have,  therefore,  no  wrongs  to  avenge.  Russia  has  no  territory  of 
which  we  wish  to  deprive  her,  and  from  her  there  is  no  danger  against 
which  it  is  necessary  to  guard.  Enlightened  self-interest  does  not 
offer  a  single  argument  in  favor  of  embroiling  ourselves  in  a  quarrel 
tvith  her.  So  obvious,  so  indisputable,  is  this  truth,  that  the  advocates 
of  "  intervention "  have  based  their  speeches  almost  solely  on  the 

jund  that  we  have  a  divine  mission  to  perform,  and  that  is,  to  strike 
the  manacles  from  the  hands  of  all  mankind.  It  may  be,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, that  we  have  such  a  mission  ;  but,  if  so,  "  the  time  of  its  i'ulfil- 
ment  is  not  yet."  And,  for  one,  I  prefer  waiting  for  some  clearer 
jianifestation  of  the  Divine  will.  By  attempting  to  fulfil  it  now,  we 
rmploy  the  surest  means  of  disappointing  that  "  manifest  destiny  "  o 


6EN  VTORTAL.  —  W.   R.  SMITH. 


849 


which  we  have  heard  so  much.  We  have  before  us  the  certainly  of 
inflicting  deep  injury  upon  ourselves,  without  the  slightest  prospect  of 
benefiting  others. 

Misfortunes  may  come  upon  us  all ;  dishonor  attaches  only  to  the 
unworthy.  A  nation  may  be  conquered,  trodden  down,  —  her  living 
sons  in  chains,  her  dead  the  prey  of  vultures,  —  and  still  leave  a 
bright  example,  a  glorious  history,  to  after  times.  But  when  folly  and 
wickedness  have  ruled  the  hour,  —  when  disaster  is  the  legitimate  child 
of  error  and  weakness, —  the  page  that  records  it  is  but  a  record  of 
infamy  and  pity  for  misfortune  becomes  a  crime  against  justice.  Sir 
[  do  not  love  that  word  "  destiny,"  —  "  manifest  "  or  not  "  manifest.' 
Men  and  nations  make  their  own  destinies,  — 

"  Our  acts  "our  angels  are,  or  g;ood,  or  ill,  — 
Our  fatal  shadows,  that  walk  by  us  still." 

The  future  of  this  Republic  is  in  our  hands ;  and  it  is  f©r  us  tf 
letermine  whether  we  will  launch  the  ship  of  State  upon  a  wild  ana 
stormy  sea,  above  whose  blackened  waters  no  sunshine  beams,  no  star 
shines  out,  and  where  not  a  my  is  seen  but  what  is  caught  from  the 
lurid  lightning  in  its  fiery  path.  This,  Senators,  is  the  mighty  ques- 
tion we  have  to  solve ;  and,  let  me  add,  if  the  freedom  of  ons  conti 
nent,  and  the  hopes  of  four,  shall  sink  beneath  that  inky  flood,  our? 
will  be  the  guilt,  —  ours  the  df^ep  damnation. 

Shall  I  be  told  these  are  idle  fears  ?  That,  in  a  war  with  Russia, 
no  matter  for  what  cause  waged,  we  must  be  the  victors  ?  That,  in 
short,  all  Europe  combined  could  not  blot  this  Union  from  the  map  of 
nations  ?  Ah,  Sir,  that  is  not  all  I  fear.  I  fear  success  even  more 
than  defeat.  The  Senator  from  Michigan  was  right  when  he  said  that 
our  fears  were  to  be  found  at  home.  I  do  fear  ourselves.  Commit 
our  people  once  to  unnecessary  foreign  wars,  —  let  victory  encourage 
the  military  spirit,  already  too  prevalent  among  them,  —  and  Roman 
history  will  have  no  chapter  bloody  enough  to  be  transmitted  to 
posterity  side  by  side  with  ours.  In  a  brief  period  we  shall  have 
reenacted,  on  a  grander  scale,  the  same  scenes  which  marked  her 
decline.  The  veteran  soldier,  who  has  followed  a  victorious  leader  from 
clime  to  clime,  will  forget  his  love  of  country  in  his  love  for  his  com- 
mander ;  and  the  bayonets  you  send  abroad  to  conquer  a  kingdom  will 
be  brought  back  to  destroy  the  rights  of  the  citizen,  and  prop  the 
throne  of  an  Emperor. 


199  HAZARDS  OF  OJJU  NATIONAL  PROSPERITY,  1851.  —  ?f^.  R.  5?nj7A,  o/ ^to&tiwwi 

Everybody  knows,  Mr.  Speaker,  what  has  been  the  policy  of  thin 
Grove  rnment  with  respect  to  the  concerns  of  Europe,  up  to  the  present 
time.  And  what,  I  ask,  has  been  the  result  of  that  policy  ?  Why 
from  the  small  beginning  of  three  millions  of  inhabitants,  we  Lava 
grown  to  twenty-three  millions'  from  a  small  number  of  Staterf,  wc  ara 


550 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


DOW  over  thirty.  But  Kossuth  says  that  we  may  depart  from  that 
policy  now ;  that  it  was  wise  when  we  were  young,  but  that  now  WtJ 
hny  grown  up  to  be  a  giant,  and  may  abandon  it.  Ah,  Sir,  we  can 
all  resist  adversity  !  We  know  the  uses  —  and  sweet  are  they  —  of 
adversity.  It  is  the  crucible  of  fortune.  It  is  the  iron  key  that 
unlocks  the  golden  gates  of  prosperity.  I  say,  Grod  bless  adversity, 
when  it  is  properly  understood !  But  the  rock  upon  which  men  and 
upon  which  Nations  split  is  prosperity.  This  man  says  that  we  hav© 
grown  to  be  a  giant,  and  that  we  may  depart  from  the  wisdom  of  our 
youth.  But  I  say  that  now  is  the  time  to  take  care  ;  we  are  grea* 
enough ;  let  us  be  satisfied ;  prevent  the  growth  of  our  ambition,  to 
prevent  our  pride  from  swelling,  and  hold  on  to  what  we  have  got. 

Do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  old  Governor,  who  had  been 
raised  from  rags  ?  His  King  discovered  in  him  merit  and  integrity, 
and  appointed  him  a  Satrap,  a  ruler  over  many  provinces.  He  came 
to  be  great,  and  it  was  his  custom  to  be.  escorted  throughout  the  coun- 
try several  times  during  the  year,  in  order  to  see  and  be  seen.  He 
was  received  and  acknowledged  everywhere  as  a  great  man  and  a  great 
Governor,  But  he  carried  about  with  him  a  mysterious  chest,  and 
every  now  and  then  he  would  look  into  it,  and  let  nobody  else  see 
what  it  contained.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  curiosity  excited  by 
this  chest ;  and  finally  he  was  prevailed  upon,  by  some  of  his  friends,  to 
let  them  look  into  it.  Well,  he  permitted  it,  and  what  did  they  see  ? 
They  saw  an  old,  ragged  and  torn  suit  of  clothes,  —  the  clothes  that 
he  used  to  wear  in  his  humility  and  in  his  poverty ;  and  he  said  that 
he  carried  them  about  with  him  in  order  that,  when  his  heart  began  to 
swell,  and  his  ambition  to  rise,  and  his  pride  to  dilate,  he  could  look  on 
the  rags  that  reminded  him  of  what  he  had  been,  and  thereby  be 
enabled  to  resist  the  temptations  of  prosperity.  Let  us  see  whether 
this  can  illustrate  anything  in  our  history.  Raise  the  veil,  if  there  is 
one,  which  conceals  the  poverty  of  this  Union,  when  there  were  but 
thirteen  States  !  Raise  the  veil  that  conceals  the  rags  of  our  soldiers 
of  the  Revolution  !  Lift  the  lid  of  the  chest  which  contains  the  pov- 
erty of  our  beginning,  in  order  that  you  may  be  reminded,  like  this 
old  Satrap,  of  the  days  of  your  poverty,  and  be  enabled  to  resist  the 
advice  of  this  man,  who  tells  you  that  you  were  wise  in  your  youth, 
but  that  now  you  are  a  giant,  and  may  depart  from  that  wisdom. 
Remember  the  use  of  adversity,  and  let  us  take  advantage  of  it, 
and  be  benefited  by  it ;  for  great  is  the  man,  and  greater  is  the  Na!ian, 
that  can  resist  the  enchanting  smiles  of  prosperity ! 

200.    AGAINST  PLOGaiNG  IN  THE  NAVY,  1852.  —  R.  F.  Stockton. 

There  is  one  broad  proposition  upon  which  I  stand.  It  is  this 
That  an  American  sailor  is  an  American,  citizen,  and  that  no  Ameri- 
san  citizen  shall,  with  my  consent,  be  subjected  to  the  infamous  pun* 
ifthment  of  the  lash.  If,  when  a  citizen  enters  into  the  service  of  his 
tountry,  he  is  to  forego  the  protection  of  those  laws  for  the  preserva- 
don  of  which  h^  is  willing  to  risk  his  life,  he  is  entitW,  in  all  justico 


BENATOJEIIAL.  —  STOCKTON. 


o51 


htimanity  and  gratitude,  to  all  the  protection  that  can  be  extended  to 
him,  in  his  peculiar  circumstances.  He  ought,  certainly,  to  be  pro- 
tected from  the  infliction  of  a  punishment  which  stands  condemned  by 
the  almost  universal  sentiment  of  his  fellow-citizens  ;  a  punishment 
which  is  proscribed  in  the  best  prison-government,  proscribed  in  the 
echool-house,  and  proscribed  in  the  best  government  on  earth  —  that 
of  parental  domestic  alfection.  Yes,  Sir,  expelled  from  the  social 
circle,  from  the  school-house,  the  prison-house,  and  the  Army,  it  finds 
defenders  and  champions  nowhere  but  in  the  Navy ! 

Look  to  your  history,  —  that  part  of  it  which  the  world  knows  by 
heart,  —  and  you  will  find  on  its  brightest  page  the  glorious  achieve- 
ments of  the  American  sailor.    Whatever  his  country  has  done  to 
disgrace  him,  and  break  his  spirit,  he  has  never  disgraced  her ;  he 
has  always  been  ready  to  serve  her  ;  he  always  has  served  her  faith- 
fully and  effectually.    He  has  often  been  weighed  in  the  balance,  and 
never  found  wanting.    The  only  fault  ever  found  with  him  is,  that  he 
sometimes  fights  ahead  of  his  orders.    The  world  has  no  match  for 
him,  man  for  man  ;  and  he  asks  no  odds,  and  he  cares  for  no  odds, 
when  the  cause  of  humanity,  or  the  glory  of  his  country,  calls  him  to 
fight.    Who,  in  the  darkest  days  of  our  Revolution,  carried  your  flag 
into  the  Vv3ry  chops  of  the  British  Channel,  bearded  the  lion  in  his 
den,  and  woke  the  echoes  of  old  Albion's  hills  by  the  thunders  of  his 
cannon,  and  the  shouts  of  his  triumph  ?    It  was  the  American  sailor. 
And  the  names  of  John  Paul  Jones,  and  the  Bon  Homme  Richard, 
will  go  down  the  annals  of  time  forever.    Who  struck  the  first  blow 
that  humbled  the  Barbary  flag, —  which,  for  a  hundred  years,  had  been 
the  terror  of  Christendom, —  drove  it  from  the  Mediterranean,  and  put 
an  end  to  the  infamous  tribute  it  had  been  accustomed  to  extort  ?  It 
was  the  American  sailor.    And  the  name  of  Decatur  and  his  gallant 
companions  will  be  as  lasting  as  monumental  brass.    In  your  war  of 
1812,  when  your  arms  on  shore  were  covered  by  disaster,  —  when 
Winchester  had  been  defeated,  when  the  Army  of  the  North-west 
had  surrendered,  and  when  the  gloom  of  despondency  hung  like  a  cloud 
over  the  land,  —  who  first  relit  the  fires  of  national  glory,  and  made  tho 
welkin  ring  with  the  shouts  of  victory  ?    It  was  the  American  sailor. 
And  the  names  of  Hull  and  the  Constitution  will  be  remembered,  as 
long  as  we  have  left  anything  worth  remembering.    That  was  no  small 
event.    The  wand  of  Mexican  prowess  was  broken  on  the  Rio  Grande. 
The  wand  of  British  invincibility  was  broken  when  the  flag  of  the 
Guerriere  came  down.    That  one  event  was  worth  more  to  the  Repub- 
lic than  all  the  money  which  has  ever  been  expended  for  the  Navy. 
Since  that  day,  the  Navy  has  aad  no  stain  upon  its  escutcheon,  but 
has  been  cherished  as  your  pride  and  glory.   And  the  American  sailor 
has  established  a  reputation  throughout  the  world,  —  in  peace  and  in 
war,  in  storm  and  in  battle,  —  for  heroism  and  prowess  unsurpassed. 
He  shrinks  from  no  danger,  he  dreads  no  foe,  and  yields  to  no  s'lpo- 
rior.    No  shoals  are  too  dangerous,  no  seas  too  boisterous,  no  climat< 
loo  rjgorous,  for  him.  The  burning  sun  of  the  tropics  cannot  mako  bin 


S52 


THE  STAJDAKD  SPEAKER. 


effeminato,  nor  can  the  eternal  winter  of  the  polar  seas  paralyze  \m 
energies.  Foster,  cherish,  develop  these  characteristics,  by  a  gener- 
ous and  paternal  government.  Excite  his  emulation,  and  stimulate 
his  ambition,  by  rewards.  But,  above  all,  save  him,  save  him  from 
the  brutalizing  lash,  and  inspire  him  with  love  and  confidence  for  youi 
service !'  and  then  there  is  no  achievement  so  arduous,  no  conflict  so 
desperate,  in  which  bis  actions  will  not  shed  glory  upon  his  country. 
And,  when  the  final  struggle  comes,  as  soon  it  will  come,  for  the  em- 
pire of  the  seas,  you  may  rest  with  entire  confidence  m  the  persuasion 
that  victory  will  be  yours. 

201.    ON  GOVERNMENT  EXTRAVAGANCE,  1538, —J^oAn  J.  Cri«entZen. 

The  bill  under  consideration  is  intended  to  a,uthorize  the  Treasury 
Department  to  issue  ten  millions  of  Treasury  Notes,  to  be  applied  to 
the*  discharge  of  the  expenses  of  Grovernment.  Habits  of  extravagance, 
it  seems,  are  hard  to  change.  They  constitute  a  disease ;  ay,  Sir,  a 
very  dangerous  one.  That  of  the  present  Administration  came  to  a 
crisis  about  eight  months  ago,  and  it  cost  the  patient  ten  millions  of 
Treasury  Notes  to  get  round  the  corner.  And  now  it  is  as  bad  as 
ever  !  Another  crisis  has  come,  and  the  doctors  ask  for  ten  millions 
more.  The  disease  is  desperate.  Money  or  death  !  They  say,  if  the 
bill  is  rejected,  Government  must  "  stop."  What  must  stop  ?  The 
laws  ?  The  judicial  tribunals  ?  The  I^ngislative  bodies  ?  The  insti- 
tutions of  the  country  ?  No,  no,  Sir  !  nil  these  will  remain,  and  go 
on.  What  stops,  then  ?  Its  own  extravagance,  —  that  must  stop,  and 
"  there 's  the  rub  !  "  Besides,  Sir,  I  mrist  really  be  permitted  to  say, 
that,  if  to  keep  this  Administration  on  its  feet  is  to.  cost  ten  millions 
of  extraordinary  supply,  every  six  or  eight  months,  why,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, the  sooner  its  fate  is  recorded  in  the  bills  of  mortality,  the  better. 
Let  me  know  how  this  money  is  to  be  applied.  I  never  will  vote  a 
dollar  on  the  mere  cry  of  "  exigency  !  "  —  "  crisis  !  "  I  will  be  behind 
no  man  in  meeting  the  real  necessities  of  my  country,  but  I  will  not 
blindly,  or  heedlessly,  vote  away  the  money  of  the  People,  or  involve 
them  in  debt.  If  the  Government  wants  money,  let  it  borrow  it.  If 
extravagance  or  necessity  shall  bring  a  national  debt  upon  us,  let  it 
come  openly,  and  not  steal  upon  us  in  the  disguise  of  Treasury  Notes. 
"  0  !  but  it  is  no  debt,"  say  gentlemen ;  "  it  is  only  issuing  a  few 
notes,  to  meet  a  crisis."  Well,  Sir,  whether  it  be  a  national  debt,  I 
will  not  say.  This  I  know,  it  will  be  followed,  whatever  it  is,  with 
the  serious  and  substantial  consequence,  that  the  people  of  the  United 
States  will  have  to  pay  it,  every  cent  of  it,  and  with  interest.  Sir,  I 
desire  to  see  this  experimenting  Administration  forced  to  make  some 
experiments  in  economy.  It  is  almost  the  only  sort  of  experiment  Ui 
which  it  seems  averse.  Its  cry  is  still  for  money,  money,  money ! 
But,  for  one,  I  say  to  it,  "  Take  physic.  Pomp  ! "  Lay  aside  your 
extravagance.  Too  much  money  has  been  your  bane.  And  I  do  not 
feel  myself  required,  by  any  duty,  to  grant  you  more,  at  present.  If 
I  did,  it  would  not  he  in  the  form  proposed  by  the  bill 


PART 


FOURTH 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL 


1.    THE  LIBERTY  OF  THE  PRESS,  1794.  —  John  Philpot  Curran. 

What,  then,  remains?  The  liberty  of  the  Press,  onli/, —  that  8acre<l 
palladium,  which  no  influence,  no  power,  no  minister,  no  Government, 
which  nothing  but  the  depravity  or  folly  or  corruption  of  a  jury,  can 
ever  destroy.  And  what  calamities  are  the  People  saved  from,  by 
having  public  communication  left  open  to  them  ?  I  will  tell  you, 
Gentlemen,  what  they  are  saved  from,  and  what  the  Government  is 
saved  from ;  I  will  tell  you,  also,  to  what  both  are  exposed,  by  shut- 
ting up  that  communication.  In  one  case,  sedition  speaks  aloud,  and 
walks  abroad ;  the  demagogue  goes  forth,  —  the  public  eye  is  upon 
him,  —  he  frets  his  bu.sy  hour  upon  the  stage  ;  but  soon  either  weari- 
ness, or  bribe,  or  punishment,  or  disappointment,  bears  him  down,  or 
drives  him  off,  and  he  appears  no  more.  In  the  other  case,  how  does 
the  work  of  sedition  go  forward  ?  Night  after  night,  the  muffled 
rebel  steals  forth  in  the  dark,  and  casts  another  and  another  brand 
upon  the  pile,  to  which,  when  the  hour  of  fatal  maturity  shall  arrive 
he  will  apply  the  torch. 

In  that  awful  moment  of  a  Nation's  travail,  of  the  last  gasp  of 
tyranny,  and  the  first  breath  of  freedom,  how  pregnant  is  the  example ! 
The  Press  extinguished,  the  People  enslaved,  and  the  Prince  undone ' 
As  the  advocate  of  society,  therefore,  of  peace,  of  domestic  liberty, 
and  the  lasting  union  of  the  two  countries,  I  conjure  you  to  guard  the 
liberty  of  the  Press,  that  great  sentinel  of  the  State,  that  grand  detect- 
ot  of  public  imposture  !  Guard  it,  because,  when  it  sinks,  there  sinks 
with  it,  in  one  com^mon  grave,  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  the  secur 
itj  of  the  Crown  ! 


2.  DESCRIPTION  OP  MR.  ROWAN,  1794.— Jo  An  Phi/pot  Curran. 

Gentlemen,  if  you  still  have  any  doubt  as  to  the  guilt  or  innocencu 
of  the  defendant,  give  me  leave  to  suggest  to  you  what  circumstances 
ycKi  ought  to  consider,  in  order  to  found  your  verdict.  You  should 
consider  the  character  of  the  person  accused ;  and  in  this  your  task  is 
easy.  I  will  venture  to  say  there  is  not  a  man  in  this  Nation  more 
known  than  the  gentleman  who  is  the  subject  of  this  prosecution  ;  not 
only  by  the  part  he  has  taken  in  public  concerns,  and  which  he  has 
taken  in  comm-on  with  many,  but  still  more  so  by  that  extraordinary 
iympathy  for  human  affliction,  which,  I  am  sorry  to  think,  he  sharor 
23 


554 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


irith  SO  small  a  number.  There  is  not  a  day  that  you  hear  the  cnoi 
of  your  star\ing  manufacture in  your  streets,  that  you  do  not  alao 
gee  the  advocate  of  their  sufferings,  —  that  you  do  not  see  his  honest 
and  manly  figure,  with  uncovered  head,  soliciting  for  their  relief,  — 
searching  the  frozen  heart  of  char-ity  for  every  string  that  can  be 
touched  ;by  compassion,  and  urging  the  force  of  every  argument  and 
every  motive,  save  that  which  his  modesty  suppresses,  the  authority 
of  his  own  generous  example. 

Or,  if  you  see  him  not  there,  you  may  trace  his  steps  to  the  private 
abodes  of  disease,  and  famine,  and  despair, — the  messenger  of  Heaven, 
bringing  with  him  food,  and  medicine,  and  consolation.  Are  these  the 
materials  of  which  you  suppose  anarchy  and  public  rapine  to  be  formed? 
Is  this  the  man  on  whom  to  fasten  the  abominable  charge  of  goading 
on  a  frantic  populace  to  mutiny  and  bloodshed  ?  Is  this  the  man 
likely  to  apostatize  from  every  principle  that  can  bind  him  to  the 
State,  —  his  birth,  his  property,  his  education,  his  character,  and  his 
children  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  you  agree  with 
his  prosecutors,  in  thinking  that  there  ought  to  be  a  sacrifice  of  such  a 
man  on  such  an  occasion,  and  upon  the  credit  of  such  evidence  you  are 
to  convict  him,  never  did  you,  never  can  you  give  a  sentence,  consign- 
ing any  man  to  public  punishment,  with  less  danger  to  his  person  or 
to  his  fame  ;  for  where,  to  fling  c  "'tumely  or  ingratitude  at  his  head, 
could  the  hireling  be  found,  whose  ^n  ivate  distresses  he  had  not  endeav- 
ored to  alleviate,  or  whose  public  condition  he  had  not  labored  to 
improve 

1  will  not  relinquish  the  confidence  that  this  day  will  be  the  period 
of  my  client's  sufferings  ;  and  that,  however  mercilessly  he  has  been 
hith  '  ri)  pursued,  your  verdict  will  send  him  home  to  the  arms  of  his 
I'aniiiy,  and  the  wishes  of  his  country.  But  if  (which  Heaven  forbid  !) 
It  hath  still  been  unfortunately  determined,  that,  because  he  has  not 
bent  to  power  and  authority, — because  he  would  pot  bow  down  before 
the  golden  calf,  and  worship  it,  —  he  is  to  be  bound  and  cast  into  the 
'urnace,  I  do  trust  in  God  that  there  is  a  redeeming  «pirit  in  the 
Oonstitution,  which  will  be  seen  to  walk  with  the  sufferer  through  the 
flames,  and  to  preserve  him  unhurt  by  the  conflagration  ! 


THE  HABEAS  CORPUS  ACT  —  John  Phi/pot  Curran,  in  the  case  of  the  KinM 
■  sgainst  Mr.  Justice  Johnson,  Feb.  4«A,  1805,  before  Chief  Baron  Lord  Avonmort  tmA 
the  other  Barons,  in  the  Court  of  Exchequer. 

T  NOW  address  you  on  a  question  the  most  vitally  connected  with 
n  ;  liberty  and  well-being  of  every  man  within  the  limits  of  the  British 
topire ;  —  which  being  decided  one  waj,  ne  may  be  a  freeman ;  which 
.  -eing  decided  the  other,  he  must  be  a  slave.  I  refer  to  the  mainten- 
unce  of  that  sacred  security  for  the  freedom  of  Englishmen, — so  justly 
called  the  second  Magna  Charta  of  British  liberty,— the  Habeas  Cor- 
pus Act;  the  spirit  and  letter  of  which  is,  that  the  party  arrested  shall 
without  a  moment's  delay,  be  hailed,  if  the  offence  be  bailable.  Wha* 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  CURRAN. 


was  th*:  >ccasion  of  the  law  ?  The  arbitrary  transportation  Df  the  sub- 
ject bey jnd  the  realm  ;  the  base  and  malignant  war  which  the  odious 
and  despicable  minions  of  power  are  forever  ready  to  wage  against  all 
those  who  are  honest  and  bold  enough  to  despise,  to  expose,  and  to 
resist  them. 

Such  is  the  oscitancy  of  man,  that  he  lies  torpid  for  ages  under  these 
aggressions,  until,  at  last,  some  signal  abuse  —  the  violation  of  LuerecQ, 
the  death  of  Virginia,  the  oppression  of  William  Tell  —  shakes  him 
from  his  slumber.  For  years  had  those  drunken  gambols  of  power 
been  played  in  England ;  for  years  had  the  waters  of  bitterness  been 
rising  to  the  brim  ;  at  last,  a  single  drop  caused  them  to  overflow,  — 
the  oppression  of  a  single  individual  raised  the  people  of  England  from 
their  sleep.  And  what  does  that  great  statute  do  ?  It  defines  and 
asserts  the  right,  it  points  out  the  abuse  ;  and  it  endeavors  to  secure  the 
right,  and  to  guard  against  the  abuse,  by  giving  redress  to  the  sufferer, 
and  by  punishing  the  offender.  For  years  had  it  been  the  practice  to 
transport  obnoxious  persons  out  of  the  realm  into  distant  parts,  under 
the  pretext  of  punishment,  or  of  safe  custody.  Well  might  they  have 
been  said,  to  be  sent  "  to  that  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourn 
no  traveller  returns  ;"  for  of  these  wretched  travellers  how  few  ever 
did  return  ! 

But  of  that  flagrant  abuse  this  statute  has  laid  the  axe  to  the  root. 
It  prohibits  the  abuse  ;  it  declares  such  detention  or  removal  illegal ; 
it  gives  an  action  against  all  persons  concerned  in  the  ofience,  by  con- 
triving, writing,  signing,  countersigning,  such  warrant,  or  advising  or 
assisting  therein.  Are  bulwarks  like  these  ever  constructed  to  repel 
the  incursions  of  a  contemptible  enemy  ?  Was  it  a  trivial  and  ordi- 
nary occasion  which  raised  this  storm  of  indignation  in  the  Parliament 
of  that  day  ?  Is  the  ocean  ever  lashed  by  the  tempest,  to  waft  a 
feather,  or  to  drown  a  fly  ?  By  this  act  you  have  a  solemn  legislative 
declaration,  "  that  it  is  incompatible  with  liberty  to  send  any  subject 
out  of  the  realm,  under  pretence  of  any  crime  supposed  or  alleged  to 
be  committed  in  a  foreign  jurisdiction,  except  that  crime  be  capital." 
Such  were  the  bulwarks  which  our  ancestors  placed  about  the  sacred 
temple  of  liberty,  such  the  ramparts  by  which  they  sought  to  bar  out 
the  ever-toiling  ocean  of  arbitrary  power  ;  and  thought  (generous  cre- 
dulity !)  that  they  had  barred  it  out  from  their  posterity  forever. 
Little  did  they  foresee  the  future  race  of  vermin  that  would  work 
their  way  through  those  mounds,  and  let  back  the  inundation  ! 


4.  CURRAN'S  APPiEAL  TO  LORD  AVONMORE.  —  From  the  last  nimed  speech 

I  AM  not  ignorant,  my  Lords,  that  the  extraordinary  construction 
Df  law  against  which  I  contend  has  received  the  sanction  of  another 
30urt,  nor  of  the  surprise  and  dismay  with  which  it  smote  upon  the 
general  heart  of  the  bar.  I  am  aware  that  I  may  have  the  mortifica- 
tion of  being  told,  in  another  country,  of  that  unhappy  decision;  and  T 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


foresee  in  what  confusion  I  shall  hang  iown  my  head  wnen  1  am 
told  it. 

But  I  cherish,  too,  the  consolatory  hope,  that  I  shall  be  able  to 
thorn  that  I  had  an  old  and  learned  friend,  whom  I  would  put  atovis 
all  the  sweepings  of  their  hall,  who  was  of  a  different  opinion  ;  \^ho  had 
derived  his  ideas  of  civil  liberty  from  the  purest  fountains  of  Athena 
and  of  Rome ;  who  had  fed  the  youthful  vigor  of  his  studious  mind 
with  the  theoretic  knowledge  of  their  wisest  philosophers  and  states- 
men ,  and  who'  had  refined  that  theory  into  the  quick  and  exquisite 
stinsibility  of  moral  instinct,  by  contemplating  the  practice  of  their 
most  illustrious  examples,  —  by  dwelling  on  the  sweet-souled  piety  of 
Jimon,  on  the  anticipated  Christianity  of  Socrates,  on  the  gallant 
and  pathetic  patriotism  of  Epaminondas,  on  that  pure  austerity  of 
Fabricius,  whom  to  move  from  his  integrity  would  have  been  more 
difficult  than  to  have  pushed  the  sun  from  his  course. 

I  would  add,  that,  if  he  had  seemed  to  hesitate,  it  was  but  for  a 
moment ;  that  his  hesitation  was  like  the  passing  cloud  that  floats 
across  the  morning  sun,  and  hides  it  from  the  view,  and  does  so  for  a 
moment  hide  it,  by  involving  the  spectator,  without  even  approaching 
the  face  of  the  luminary.  And  this  soothing  hope  I  draw  from  the 
dearest  and  tenderest  recollections  of  my  life  ;  from  the  remembrance 
of  those  attic  nights  and  those  refections  of  the  god^  which  we  have 
partaken  with  those  admired,  and  respected,  and  beloved  companions, 
who  have  gone  before  us,  —  over  whose  ashes  the  most  precious  tears 
of  Ireland  have  been  shed.* 

Yes,  my  good  lord,  I  see  you  do  not  forget  them ;  I  see  their  sacred 
forms  passing  in  sad  review  before  your  memory  ;  I  see  your  pained 
and  softened  fancy  recalling  those  happy  meetings,  where  the  innocent 
enjoyment  of  social  mirth  became  expanded  into  the  nobler  warmth  of 
social  virtue,  and  the  horizon  of  the  board  became  enlarged  into  the 
horizon  of  man  ;  where  the  swelling  heart  conceived  and  communicated 
the  pure  and  generous  purpose ;  where  my  slenderer  and  younger  taper 
imbibed  its  borrowed  light  from  the  more  matured  and  redundant  foun- 
tain of  yours.  Yes,  my  lord,  we  can  remember  those  nights,  without 
any  other  regret  than  that  they  can  never  more  return  ;  for, 

"  We  spent  them  not  in  toys,  or  lust,  or  \Tine; 
But  search  of  deep  philosophy. 
Wit,  eloquence,  acd  poesy; 
Arts  which  I  loved,  for  they,  my  friend,  were  thine." 

*  Hera,  according  to  the  original  report,  Lord  Avonmore  could  not  refrain  fronc 
InirBting  into  tears.  In  the  midtit  of  Curran's  legal  argument,  "  this  most  beautifu. 
episode,"  says  Charles  Phillips,  "bloomed  like  a  green  spot  amid  the  desert.  Mr 
Curran  tcld  me  himself,  that  when  the  court  rose,  the  tip- stati"  informed  him  he  wa4 
wanted  immediately  in  chamber  by  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Exchequer,  lie,  of 
course,  obeyed  tlie  judicial  mandate;  and  the  moment  he  entered,  poor  Lord  Avon« 
more,  whose  checks  were  still  wet  with  the  tears  extorted  by  this  heart-touchin| 
a})peal,  clasped  him  to  hi?  bosom  "  A  coolness  caused  by  political  ditierence^ 
which  had  for  some  time  existed  between  them,  gjiye  place  to  a  renewal  of  friend 
ibip,  which  was  not  again  interrupted 


FOKENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  EMMETT. 


i.  ON  BEING  FOUND  GUILTY  OF  HIGH  TREASON. —/Zofccrf  Emmett 

On  tbe  23J  of  June,  1803,  a  rebellion  against  the  Government  broke  out  in  Dublin,  in  whici 
Eobert  Emmett,  at  the  time  only  twenty-three  years  of  age,  was  a  principal  actor.  It  prove*? 
k  failure.  Emmett  was  arrested,  having  missed  the  opportunity  of  escape,  it  is  said,  by  "linger 
mg  to  take  leave  of  a  daughter  of  Curran,  the  gifted  orator,  to  whom  he  bore  an  attachmpni, 
w  Anh.  was  reciprocated.  On  the  lath  of  September,  1803,  Emmett  was  tried  for  high  treason 
S,t  the  Sessions  House,  Dublin,  before  Lord  Norbury,  one  of  the  Chief  Judges  of  the  King'i 
BencK  and  others ;  was  found  guilty,  and  executed  the  next  day.  Through  his  counsel,  he  ha<J 
asked ,  at  the  trial,  that  the  judgment  of  the  Court  might  be  postponed  until  the  next  morning. 
This  request  was  not  granted.  The  clerk  of  the  Crown  read  the  indictment,  and  announc5' 
the  veniict  found,  in  the  usual  form.  He  then  concluded  thus  :  "  What  have  you,  therefore 
now  to  say,  why  judgment  of  death  and  execution  should  not  be  awarded  against  you,  accord 
iiig  to  law  Standing  forward  in  the  dock,  in  front  of  the  Bench,  Emmett  made  the  fol'^wing 
Smpromptu  address,  which  we  give  entire,  dividing  it  only  into  passages  of  a  suitable  lenj^th  fof 
declamation.  At  his  execution,  Emmett  displayed  great  fortitude.  As  he  was  passing  ont  of 
his  cell,  on  his  way  to  the  gallows,  he  met  the  turnkey,  who  had  become  much  attached  to  him. 
Bemg  fettered,  Emmett  could  not  give  his  haivl  ;  'so  lie  kissed  the  poor  fellow  on  th«  cheek, 
who,  overcome  by  the  mingled  condescension  and  tenderness  of  the  act,  fell  senseless  at  the  feet 
of  the  youthful  victim,  and  did  not  recover  till  the  latter  was  no  longer  amonp  the  livuig. 

I. 

¥/ HAT  have  I  to  say,  why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pro- 
nounced on  me,  according  to  law  ?  I  have  nothing  to  say  which  can 
alter  your  predetermination,  or  that  it  would  become  me  to  say  with 
any  view  to  the  mitigation  of  that  sentence  which  you  are  here  to 
pronounce,  and  which  I  must  abide.  But  I  have  that  to  say  which 
interests  me  more  than  life,  and  which  you  have  labored  —  as  was 
necessarily  your  office  in  the  present  circumstances  of  this  oppressed 
country  —  to  destroy.  I  have  much  to  say,  why  my  reputation  should 
be  rescued  from  the  load  of  false  accusation  and  calumny  which  has 
been  heaped  upon  it.  I  do  not  imagine  that,  seated  where  you  are, 
your  minds  o6m  be  so  free  from  impurity  as  to  receive  the  least 
impression  from  what  I  am  going  to  utter.  I  have  no  hope  that  I' 
can  anchor  my  character  in  the  breast  of  a  Court  constituted  and 
trammelled  as  this  is.  I  only  wish,  and  it  is  the  utmost  I  expect, 
that  your  Lordships  may  suffer  it  to  float  down  your  memories, 
untainted  by  the  foul  breath  of  prejudice,  until  it  finds  some  mof-e 
hospitable  harbor,  to  shelter  it  from  the  rude  storm  by  which  it  is  at 
present  buffeted. 

Were  I  only  to  suffer  death,  after  being  adjudged  guilty  by  your 
tribunal,  I  should  bow  in  silence,  and  meet  the  fate  that  awaits  me, 
without  a  murmur.  But  the  sentence  of  the  law  which  del'ivers  my 
body  to  the  executioner  will,  through  the  ministry  of  that  law,  labor, 
in  its  own  vindication,  to  consign  my  character  to  obloquy :  for  there 
must  be  guilt  somewhere, — whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  ox 
in  the  catastrophe,  posterity  must  determine.  A  man  in  my  situation, 
my  Lords,  has  not  only  to  encounter  the  difficulties  of  fortune,  and 
the  force  of  power  over  minds  which  it  has  corrupted  or  subjugated 
but  the  difficulties  of  established  prejudice :  —  tho  man  dies,"  but  his 
memory  lives :  that  mine  may  not  perish,  that  it  may  live  in  the 
respect  of  my  countrymen.  I  seize  upon  this  opportunity  to  vindicate 
myself  from  some  of  the  charges  alleged  against  me.  When  my 
spirit  shall  be  wafted  to  a  more  friendly  port,  —  when  my  shade  shall 
itave  joined  the  bands  of  those  martyred  heroes  who  have  shed  the\i 


»58 


mt  STANIiiRD  SPKAKER. 


blood,  Oii  the  scaffold  and  in  the  field,  in  defence  of  their  country  a.Qtf 
of  viilue;  —  th\s  is  my  hope :  I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name  ma^ 
animate  those  who  survive  me,  while  I  look  down  with  complacency 
on  the  destruction  of  that  perfidious  Grovernment  which  upholds  its 
dominion  by  blasphemy  of  the  Most  High,  —  which  displays  its 
power  over  man  as  over  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  —  which  sets  niaii 
upon  his  brother,  and  lifts  his  hand,  in  the  name  of  God,  against  the 
throat  of  his  fellow,  who  believes  or  doubts  a  little  more,  or  a  little 
less,  than  the  Government  standard,  —  a  Government  which  is  steeled 
to  barbarity  by  the  cries  of  the  orphans  and  the  tears  of  the  widows 
which  it  has  made.* 

II. 

I  APPEAL  to  the  immaculate  God,  —  to  the  throne  of  Heaven,  before 
which  I  must  shortly  appear,  —  to  the  blood  of  the  murdered  patriots 
who  have  gone  before,  —  that  my  conduct  has  been,  through  all  this 
peril,  and  through  all  my  purposes,  governed  only  by  the  convictions 
which  I  have  uttered,  and  by  no  other  view  than  that  of  the  emanci- 
pation of  my  country  from  the  superinhuman  oppression  under  which 
she  has  so  long  and  too  patiently  travailed ;  and  that  I  confidently  and 
assuredly  hope  that,  wild  and  chimerical  as  it  may  appear,  there  is 
still  union  and  strength  in  Ireland  to  accompli'jii  this  noblest 
enterprise.  Of  this  I  speak  with  the  confidence  of  intimate  knowl- 
edge, and  with  the  consolation  that  appertains  to  that  confidence. 
Think  not,  my  Lords,  I  say  this  for  the  petty  gratification  of  giving 
you  a  transitory  uneasiness ;  a  man  who  never  yet  raised  his  voice  to 
assert  a  lie  will  not  hazard  his  character  with  posterity  by  asserting 
a  falsehood  on  a  subject  so  important  to  his  country,  and  on  an  occa- 
Bion  like  this.  Yes,  my  Lords ;  a  man  who  does  not  wish  to  have  hii 
epitaph  written  until  his  country  is  liberated  will  not  leave  a  weapor. 
in  the  power  of  envy,  nor  a  pretence  to  impeach  the  probity  which 
he  means  to  preserve  even  in  the  grave  to  which  tyranny  consigns 
him.t 

Again  I  say,  that  what  I  have  spoken  was  not  intended  for  your 
Lordships,  whose  situation  I  commiserate  rather  than  envy  ;  —  my 
expressions  were  for  my  countrymen;  if  there  is  a  true  Irishman 
present,  let  ray  last  words  cheer  him  in  the  hour  of  his  affliction  —  I 

I  have  always  understood  it  to  be  the  duty  of  a  judge,  when  a 
prisoner  has  been  convicted,  to  pronounce  the  sentence  of  the  law ;  I 
have  also  understood  that  judges  sometimes  think  it  their  duty  to  hear 
writh  patience,  and  to  speak  with  humanity ;  to  exhort  the  victim  of 
tko  laws,  and  to  offer,  with  tender  benignity,  opinions  of  the  motives 

*  Here  Lord  Norbury  said  :  "  The  weak  and  wicked  enthusiasts  who  feel  a3  yon 
i»el  are  unequal  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  wild  designs^' 

•f  Ho  was  here  interrupted  by  Lord  Norbury,  who  said  :  "  You  proceed  to  UDMror 
rantable  lengths,  in  order  to  exasperate  and  delude  the  unwary,  and  circulate 
opinions  of  the  most  dangerous  tendency,  for  the  purposes  of  mischief." 

t  Lord  Norbury  hero  interrupted  the  speaker  with,  —  "  What  you  Lave  hithert; 
•aia  confirms  and  justifies  the  verdict  of  the  jury." 


FORENSIC   AND  JUDICIAL.    EMMETT. 


t>y  which  he  was  actuated  in  the  crime  ot  ?>^ich  he  had  been 
adjudged  guilty.  That  a  judge  has  thought  it  his  duty  so  to  havn 
done,  I  have  no  doubt ;  but  where  is  the  boasted  freedom  of  your 
institutions,  —  where  is  the  vaunted  impartiality,  clemency,  and  mild- 
ness of  your  courts  of  justice,  —  if  an  unfortunate  prisoner,  wkom 
your  policy,  and  net  justice,  is  about  to  deliver  into  the  hands  of  the 
executioner,  is  not  suffered  to  explain  his  motives  sincerely  and  truly  , 
and  to  vindicate  the  principles  by  which  he  was  actuated  ? 

III. 

My  Lords,  it  may  be  a  part  of  the  system  of  angry  justice  to  bow 
a  man's  mind,  by  humiliation,  to  the  purposed  ignominy  of  the  scaf« 
fold ;  but  worse  to  me  than  the  scaffold's  shame,  or  the  scaffold'? 
terrors,  would  be  the  shame  of  such  foul  and  unfounded  imputations 
as  have  been  laid  against  me  in  this  Court.  You,  my  Lord,  are  a 
judge,  I  am  the  supposed  culprit.  I  am  a  man,  —  you  are  a  man 
also  By  a  revolution  of  power,  we  might  change  places,  though  we 
never  could  change  characters.  If  I  stand  at  the  bar  of  this  Court, 
and  dare  not  vindicate  my  character,  what  a  farce  is  your  j-ustice  !  If 
I  stand  at  this  bar,  and  dare  not  vindicate  my  character,  how  dare 
you  calumniate  it  ?  Does  the  sentence  of  death,  which  your  unhal- 
owed  policy  inflicts  on  my  body,  also  condemn  my  tongue  to  silence, 
and  my  reputation  to  reproach  ?  Your  executioner  may  abridge  the 
period  of  my  existence  ;  but,  while  I  exist,  I  shall  not  forbear  to  vin- 
dicate my  character  and  motives  from  your  aspersions.  As  a  man  to 
whom  fame  is  dearer  than  life,  I  will  make  the  last  use  of  that  life  in 
doing  justice  to  that  reputation  which  is  to  live  after  me,  and  which 
is  the  only  legacy  I  can  leave  to  those  I  honor  and  love,  and  for  whom 
I  am  proud  to  perish.  As  men,  my  Lord,  we  must  appear,  on  the 
great  day,  at  one  common  tribunal ;  and  it  will  then  remain  for  the 
Searcher  of  all  hearts  to  show  a  collective  universe  who  are  engaged 
in  the  most  virtuous  actions,  or  actuated  by  the  purest  motives,  —  my 
country's  oppressors  or  —  * 

My  Lord,  shall  a  dying  man  be  denied  the  legal  privilege  ot 
exculpating  himself,  in  the  eyes  of  the  community,  of  an  undeserved 
reproach  thrown  upon  him  during  his  trial,  by  charging  him  with  am- 
bition, and  attempting  to  cast  away,  for  a  paltry  consideration,  the 
liberties  of  his  country  ?  Why,  then,  insult  me  ?  or,  rather,  why 
insult  justice,  in  demanding  of  me  why  sentence  of  death  should  not 
be  pronounced  ?  I  know,  my  Lord,  that  form  prescribes  that  you 
ehould  ask  the  question  ;  the  form  also  presumes  the  right  of  answer- 
ing !  This,  no  doubt,  may  be  disp(^nsed  with ;  and  so  might  the  whole 
ceremony  of  the  trial,  since  sentence  was  already  pronounced  at  the 
Castle  before  your  jury  was  impanelled.  Your  Lordships  are  but 
the  priests  of  the  oracle,  and  I  submit  to  the  sacrifice  ;  but  I  insis* 
•^n  the  whole  of -the  forms."*" 

•  Here  Lord  Norbury  exclaimed  :  "  Listen,  Sir,  to  the  sentence  of  the  law.*' 
t  Here  Mr.  Emmett  paused,  and  the  Court  desired  huat  to  proceed 


860 


THB  STANDARD  SPEAKifili. 


J  AM  charged  with,  being  an  emissary  of  France  An  emissary  of 
France !  —  and  for  what  end  It  is  alleged  that  1  wished  to  sell  the 
independence  of  my  country !  And  for  what  end  ?  Was  this  the 
object  of;  my  ambition  ?  and  is  this  the  mode  by  which  a  tribunal  of 
justice  reconciles  contradictions  ?  No !  I  am  no  emissary.  Mj? 
ambition  was  to  hold  a  place  among  the  deliverers  of  my  country,— 
not  in  power,  nor  in  profit,  but  in  the  glory  of  the  achievement.  Sell 
my  country's  independence  to  France !  And  for  what  ?  For  a  change 
of  masters  ?  No ;  but  for  ambition  !  0,  my  country !  was  it  personal 
ambition  that  could  influence  me  ?  Had  it  been  the  soul  of  my  actions, 
could  I  not,  by  my  education  and  fortune,  by  the  rank  and  consider- 
ation of  my  family,  have  placed  myself  among  the  proudest  of  your 
oppressors  ?  My  country  was  my  idol.  To  it  I  sacrificed  every  self- 
ish, every  endearing  sentiment ;  and  for  it  I  now  offer  up  my  life  !  0 
God  !  No !  my  Lord ;  I  acted  as  an  Irishman,  determined  on  deliver- 
ing my  country  from  the  yoke  of  a  foreign  and  unrelenting  tyranny,  and 
from  the  more  galling  yoke  of  a  domestic  faction,  its  joint  partner  and 
perpetrator  in  the  patricide,  whose  reward  is  the  ignominy  of  existing 
with  an  exterior  of  splendor,  and  a  consciousness  of  depravity.  It  waa 
the  wish  of  niy  heart  to  extricate  my  country  from  this  doubly  riveted 
despotism.  I  wished  to  place  her  independence  beyond  the  reach  of 
any  power  on  earth.  I  wished  to  exalt  her  to  that  proud  station  in 
the  world  which  Providence  had  fitted  her  to  fill. 

Connection  with  France  was,  indeed,  intended ;  but  only  as  far  as 
mutual  interest  would  sanction  or  require.  Were  the  French  to 
assume  any  authority  incensistent  with  the  purest  independence,  if 
would  be  fhe  signal  for  their  destruction.  We  sought  aid  of  them  ;  and 
we  sought  it,  as  we  had  assurance  we  should  obtain  it,  —  as  auxiliaries 
in  war,  and  allies  in  peace.  Were  the  French  to  come  as  invaders  or 
enemies,  uninvited  by  the  wishes  of  the  People,  I  should  oppose  them 
to  the  u+raost  of  my  strength.  Yes,  my  countrymen,  I  would  meet 
them  on  the  beach,  with  a  sword  in  one  hand  and  a  torch  in  the  other. 
I  would  meet  them  with  all  the  destructive  fury  of  war ;  and  I  would 
animate  you  to  immolate  them  in  their  boats,  before  they  had  contami- 
nated the  soil.  If  they  succeeded  in  landing,  and  if  we  wereaorced  to 
retire  before  superior  discipline,  I  would  dispute  every  inch  of  ground, 
raze  every  house,  burn  every  blade  of  grass  before  them,  and  the  last 
ictrenchinent  of  liberty  should  be  my  grave.  What  I  could  not  do 
myself,  if  I  should  fall,  I  would  leave  in  cliarg'i  to  my  countrymen  U 
accomplish ;  because  I  should  feel  conscious  that  life,  more  than  death, 
is  unprofitable,  when  a  foreign  nation  holds  my  country  in  subjection. 

But  it  was  not  as  an  enemy  that  the  succors  of  France  were  to  land. 
I  looked,  indeed,  for  the  assistance  of  France ;  but  I  wished  to  provs 
to  France,  and  to  the  world,  that  Irishmen  deserved  to  be  assiste<i, 
that  thoy  were  indignant  at  slavery,  and  ready  to  assert  tho  indopend- 
nee  and  liberty  of  their  country  !    I  wished  to  procure  tor  my  ooviF 


FORENSIC  ^i-JD  JUDICIAL. 


—  EMMETT. 


361 


try  the  gi^x  rantee  which  Washington  procured  for  Amerlcyi,  —  to  pro- 
cure an  aid  which,  by  its  example,  would  be  as  important  as  by  its 
?alor,  —  allies  disciplined,  gallant,  pregnant  with  science  and  cxperi* 
ence  ;  who  would  preserve  the  good  and  polish  the  rough  [)oints  of  oui 
character ;  who  would  come  to  us  as  strangers,  and  leave  us  as  friends, 
after  sharing  our  perils  and  elevating  our  destiny.  These  were  my 
objects ;  not  to  receive  new  task-masters,  but  to  expel  old  tyrants. 
These  were  my  views,  and  these  only  become  Irishmen.  It  w^as  foi 
these  ends  T  sought  aid  from  France,  because  France,  even  as  an 
snemy,  could  not  be  more  implacable  than  the  enemy  already  in  the 
bosom  of  my  country.* 

V. 

1  HAVE  been  charged  with  that  importance,  in  the  efforts  to  emanci- 
pate my  country,  as  to  be  considered  the  key-stone  of  the  combination 
of  Irishmen,  or,  as  your  Lordship  expressed  it,  "  the  life  and  blood  of 
the  conspiracy."  You  do  me  honor  overmuch.  You  have  given  to 
the  subaltern  all  the  credit  of  a  superior.  There  are  men  engaged  in 
this  conspiracy  who  are  not  only  superior  to  me,  but  even  to  your  own 
conceptions  of  yourself,  my  Lord ;  —  men,  before  the  splendor  of  whose 
genius  and  virtues  I  should  bow  with  respectful  deference,  and  who 
would  think  themselves  dishonored  to  be  called  your  friends,  —  who 
would  not  disgrace  themselves  by  shaking  your  blood-stained  hand !  t 

What,  my  Lord,  shall  you  tell  me,  on  the  passage  to  the  scaffold 
which  that  tyranny,  of  which  you  are  only  the  intermediate  minister, 
has  erected  for  my  murder,  that  I  am  accountable  for  all  the  blood  that 
has  been  and  will  be  shed,  in  this  struggle  of  the  oppressed  against  the 
oppressor  ?  Shall  you  tell  me  this,  and  must  I  be  so  very  a  slave  as 
not  to  repel  it?  I,  who  fear  not  to  approach  the  Omnipotent  Judge, 
to  answer  for  the  conduct  of  my  short  life,  —  am  I  to  be  appalled  here, 
before  a  mere  remnant  of  mortality  ?  —  by  you,  too,  who,  if  it  were 
possible  to  collect  all  the  innocent  blood  that  you  have  caused  to  be 
shed,  in  your  unhallowed  ministry,  in  one  great  reservoir,  your  Lord- 
Bhip  might  swim  in  it !  I 

Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge;  me  with  dishonor. 
Lp.t  no  man  attaint  my  memory  by  believing  that  I  could  have  engaged 
in  any  cau93  but  that  of  my  country's  liberty  and  independence,  or  that 
I  could  have  become  the  pliant  minion  of  power  in  the  oppression  and 
the  miseries  of  my  countrymen.  The  proclamation  of  the  Provisional 
G^overnment  speaks  for  my  views.  No  inference  can  be  tortured  from 
it  to  countenance  barbarity  or  debasement  at  home,  or  subjection., 
humiliation  or  treachery,  from  abroad.  I  would  not  have  submitted 
\o  a  foreign  oppressor,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  would  resist  the 
iomeztic  tyrant.  In  the  dignity  of  freedom  I  would  have  fought  upoii. 
tne  threshold  of  my  country,  and  its  enemy  should  enter  only  by  pass- 
ing over  my  lifeless  corpse.   And  am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my  country 


*  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Court. 

\  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  Lord  Norl  ory. 


X  Here  tne  Todsre  ipterfcre^ 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


—  who  flave  siabjected  myself  to  the  dangers  of  the  jealous  and  watco^ 
ful  oppiesyor,  and  now  to  the  bondage  of  the  grave,  only  to  give  my 
countrymen  their  rights,  and  my  country  her  independence,  —  am  1 
to  be  loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  suffered  to  resent  it  ^  No .  God 
forbid  \  ■* 

If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the  concerns  and 
cares  of  those  who  were  dear  to  them  in  this  transitory  life,  0,  ever 
dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  departed  father,  look  down  with 
scrutiny  upon  the  conduct  of  your  suffering  son,  and  see  if  I  have,  even 
for  a  moment,  deviated  from  those  principles  of  morality  and  patriot- 
ism which  it  was  your  care  to  instil  into  my  youthful  mind,  and  for 
which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life ! 

My  Lords,  you  seem  impatient  for  the  sacrifice.  The  blood  for 
which  you  thirst  is  not  congealed  by  the  artificial  terrors  which  sur- 
round your  victim;  — it  circulates,  warmly  and  unruffled,  through  the 
channels  which  God  created  for  nobler  purposes,  but  which  you  dre 
bent  to  destroy,  for  purposes  so  grievous  that  they  cry  to  Heaven.  Be 
ye  patient !  I  have  but  a  few  words  more  to  say.  I  am  going  to  my 
cold  and  silent  grave.  My  lamp  of  life  is  nearly  extinguished.  My 
race  is  run.  The  grave  opens  to  receive  me,  —  and  I  sink  into  its 
bosom !  I  have  but  one  request  to  ask,  at  my  departure  from  thia 
world ;  —  it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence.  Let  no  man  write  my  epi- 
taph ;  for,  as  no  man  who  knows  my  motives  dare  now  vindicate  them, 
let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse  them.  Let  them  and  me  repose 
in  obscurity  and  peace,  and  my  tomb  remain  uninscribed,  until  other 
times  and  other  men  can  do  justice  to  my  character.  ^Vhen  my  coun- 
try takes  her  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  —  then,  and  not 
till  then,  —  let  ray  epitaph  be  written  !    I  have  done 


t.  GREAT  MINDS  IN  THEIR  RELATIONS  TO  CHRISTIANITY.  —  jErsime,  m  the  trtat 
of  mUiams,  for  publishing  Paine^s  "-Age  of  Reason.'" 

ThnmAs  Erskine  was  born  in  Scotland,  in  1750,  and  made  Lord  Chancellor  in  1806.  He  died 
In  1823.  He  was  one  of  the  greatest  advocates  who  have  graced  the  Bar  ;  and,  in  serious  foren- 
Bic  oratory,  has  never  l)een  surpassed.  It  has  been  said  of  him,  that  no  man  that  ever  lived  so 
elevated  and  honored  his  calling. 

In  running  the  mind  along  the  long  list  of  sincere  and  devout 
Christians,  I  cannot  help  lamenting  that  Newton  had  not  lived  to  thia 
day,  to  have  had  his  shallowness  filled  up  with  this  new  flood  of  light, 
poured  upon  the  world  by  Mr.  Thomas  Paine.  But  the  subject  is  too 
awful  for  irony.  I  will  speak  plainly  and  directly.  Newton  was  a 
Christian  I  —  Newton,  whose  mind  burst  forth  from  the  fetters  cast  by 
Itature  upon  our  finite  conceptions;  —  Newton,  whose  science  was 
truth,  and  the  foundations  of  whose  knowledge  of  it  was  philosophy 
not  those  visionary  and  arrogant  presumptions  which  too  often  usurp 
its  name,  but  philosophy  resting  upon  the  basis  of  mathematics,  whiih 

•Hero  Lord  Norbury  told  the  prisoner  that  his  principles  were  treasonaole  an« 
tubversive  uf  government,  and  his  language  unbecoming  a  person  in  his  situation, 
and  that  his  father,  the  late  Dr.  Emmett,  was  a  man  who  wo'ild  nvi  I  are  count* 
uancod  such  sentiments 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  ERSKINE.  86S 

lake  figures,  can  rot  lie ;  —  Newton,  who  carried  the  line  and  rule  to  the 
nttermost  barrier  of  creation,  and  explored  the  principles  by  which,  n* 
doubt,  all  created  matter  is  held  together  and  exists.  But  this  extraor 
dinary  man,  in  the  mighty  reach  of  his  mind,  overlooked,  perhapa 
what  a  minuter  investigation  of  the  created  things  on  this  earth  might 
have  taught  him,  of  the  essence  of  his  Creator.  What,  then,  shall  ba 
said  of  the  great  Mr.  Boyle,  who  looked  into  the  organic  structure  of  all 
matter,  even  to  the  brute  inanimate  substances  which  the  foot  treads  on  ? 
Such  a  man  may  be  supposed  to  have  been  equally  qualified,  with  Mr. 
Paine,  to  look  up  through  nature  to  nature's  God ;  yet  the  result  of  all 
his  contemphxtion  was  the  most  confirmed  and  devout  belief  in  all  which 
the  other  holds  in  contempt,  as  despicable  and  drivelling  superstition. 

But  this  error  might,  perhaps,  arise  from  a  want  of  due  attention  to 
the  foundations  of  human  judgment,  and  the  structure  of  that  under- 
Btanding  which  God  has  given  us  for  the  investigation  of  truth.  Let 
that  question  be  answered  by  Mr.  Locke,  who  was,  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  devotion  and  adoration,  a  Christian ;  —  Mr.  Locke,  whose 
office  was  to  detect  the  errors  of  thinking,  by  going  up  to  the  fountains 
of  thought,  and  to  direct  into  the  proper  track  of  reasoning  the  devi- 
ous mind  of  man,  by  showing  him  its  whole  process,  from  the  first  per- 
ceptions of  sense  to  the  last  conclusions  of  ratiocination,  putting  a  rein 
upon  false  opinions  by  practical  rules  for  the  conduct  of  human  judg- 
ment. But  these  men  were  only  deep  thinkers,  and  lived  in  their 
closets,  unaccustomed  to  the  traffic  of  the  world,  and  to  the  laws  which 
practically  regulate  mankind. 

Gentlemen,  in  the  place  where  we  now  sit  to  administer  the  justice 
of  this  great  country,  above  a  century  ago,  the  never  to  be  forgotten 
Sir  Matthew  Hale  presided,  whose  faith  in  Christianity  is  an  exalted 
commentai-y  upon  its  truth  and  reason,  and  whose  life  was  a  glorious 
example  of  its  fruits  in  man,  administering  human  justice  with  wisdom 
and  purity,  drawn  from  the  pure  fountain  of  the  Christian  dispensa- 
tion, which  has  been,  and  will  be,  in  all  ages,  a  subject  of  the  highest 
reverence  and  admiration.  But  it  is  said  by  the  author  that  the 
Christian  fable  is  but  the  tale  of  the  more  ancient  superstitions  of  the 
world,  and  may  be  easily  detected  by  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
mythologies  of  the  heathens.  Did  Milton  understand  those  mytholo- 
gies ?  Was  he  less  versed  than  Mr.  Paine  in  the  superstitions  of  the 
world  ?  No  ;  they  were  the  subject  of  his  immortal  song ;  and  though 
shut  out  from  all  recurrence  to  them,  he  poured  them  forth  from  tlie 
ftorjs  of  a  memory  rich  with  all  that  man  ever  knew,  and  laid  them 
in  their  order,  as  the  illustration  of  real  and  exalted  faith,  —  the 
anquestionable  source  of  that  fervid  genius  which  cast  a  sort  of  shade 
upon  all  the  other  works  of  man.  But  it  was  the  light  of  the  bodtj 
only  that  was  extinguished ;  —  "  the  celestial  light  shone  inward,  and 
enabled  him  to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 

Thus  you  find  all  that  is  great,  or  wise,  or  splendid,  or  illustrious, 
amongst  created  beings,  —  all  the  minds  gifted  beyond  ordinary  nature, 
f  not  inspired  bj  its  universal  A.uthor  for  the  advancement  and  digniij 


364 


THE  STANDAPD  SPEAKER. 


oi  the  world,  —  though  divided  by  distant  ages,  and  hy  clashing  opinionh 
distinguishing  them  from  one  another,  yet  joining,  as  it  were,  in  one 
SPiblirae  chorus  to  celebrate  the  truths  of  Christianity,  and  laying  upoL 
.ts  holy  altars  the  never-failing  offerings  of  their  immortal  wisdom, . 


I  AOTEMPTS  TO  BIAS  JUDGMENT  IN  CASE  OF  WILKES,  1768. —Lord  Man<^tfi.. 

It  is  fit  to  take  some  notice  of  the  various  terrors  being  hold  out 
fche  judges  on  this  Bench ;  the  numerous  crowds  which  have  attendcxj 
and  now  attend  in  and  about  this  hall,  out  of  all  reach  of  hearing  wha4 
passes  in  Court ;  and  the  tumults  which,  in  other  places,  have  shame- 
ftilly  insulted  all  order  and  government.  Audacious  addresses  in 
print  dictate  to  us,  from  those  they  call  the  People,  the  judgment  to 
h  given  now,  and  afterwards  upon  the  conviction.  Reasons  of  policy 
a  e  urged,  from  danger  to  the  kingdom  by  commotions  and  general 
onfusion.  Give  me  leave  to  take  the  opportunity  of  this  great  and 
respectable  audience,  to  let  the  whole  world  know  that  all  such 
attempts  are  vain.  Unless  we  have  been  able  to  find  an  error  which 
will  bear  us  out  to  reverse  the  outlawry,  it  must  be  affirmed.  The 
Constitution  does  not  allow  reasons  of  state  to  influence  our  judgments. 
God  forbid  it  should !  We  must  not  regard  political  consequences, 
how  formidable  soever  they  might  be ;  if  rebellion  was  the  certain 
consequence,  we  are  bound  to  say,  '■'■Fiat  justitia,  mat  caelum.''''  We 
are  to  say  what  we  take  the  law  to  be ;  if  we  do  not  speak  our  real 
opinions,  we  prevaricate  with  God  and  our  own  consciences. 

I  pass  over  many  anonymous  letters  I  have  received  :  those  in  print 
are  public :  and  some  of  them  have  been  brought  judicially  before  the 
court.  Whoever  the  writers  are,  they  take  the  wrong  way ;  I  will  do 
my  duty  unawed.  What  am  I  to  fear  ?  That  mendax  infamia  from 
the  Press,  which  daily  coins  false  facts  and  false  motives  ?  The  lies 
of  calumny  carry  no  terror  to  me.  I  trust  that  my  temper  of  mind, 
and  the  color  and  conduct  of  my  life,  have  given  me  a  suit  of  armor 
against  these  arrows.  If,  during  this  King's  reign,  I  have  ever  sup- 
ported his  Government,  and  assisted  his  measures,  I  have  done  it  with- 
out any  other  reward  than  the  consciousness  of  doing  what  I  thought 
right.  If  I  have  ever  opposed,  I  have  done  it  upon  the  points  them- 
selves, without  mixing  in  party  or  faction,  and  without  any  collateral 
views.  I  honor  the  King,  and  respect  the  People  ;  but,  many  things 
acquired  by  the  favor  of  either  are,  in  my  account,  objects  not  worth 
ambition,  I  wish  popularity  •  but  it  is  that  popularity  which  follows; 
not  that  which  is  run  after ;  it  is  that  popularity  which,  sooner  or 
later,  never  fails  to  do  justice  to  the  pursuit  of  noble  ends  by  noble 
means.  I  will  not  do  that  which  my  conscience  tells  me  is  wrong 
upon  this  occasion,  to  gain  the  huzzas  of  thousands,  or  the  daily  praise 
of  all  the  papers  which  come  from  the  press ;  I  will  not  avoid  doing  what 
I  think  is  right,  though  it  should  draw  on  me  the  whole  artillery  of 
libels,  —  all  that  falsehood  and  malice  can  invent,  or  <^he  credulity  of  » 
Icluded  populace  oan  swallow.    I  can  say,  with  a  great  magistral*, 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  MACKINTOSH. 


86^ 


apon  an  occasion  and  under  circumstances  not  unlike,  "  J^^^c*  hot 
ammo  semper  fui,  ut  invidiam  virtute  'partam,  ^hriam,  non 
invidiam,  putarem.^^ 

The  threats  go  further  than  abuse  ;  personal  violence  is  denounce- 1 
I  do  not  believe  it ;  it  is  not  the  genius  of  the  worst  men  of  this 
country,  in  the  worst  of  times.  But  I  have  set  my  mind  at  rest.  The 
last  end  that  can  happen  to  any  man  never  comes  too  soon,  if  he  falls 
in  support  of  the  law  and  liberty  of  his  country,  —  for  liberty  is 
synonymous  with  law  and  government.  Such  a  shock,  too,  might  be 
productive  of  public  good ;  it  might  awake  the  better  part  of  the  king- 
dom out  of  that  lethargy  which  seems  to  have  benumbed  them,  and 
bring  the  mad  back  to  their  senses,  as  men  intoxicated  are  sometimes 
stunned  into  sobriety.  Once  for  all,  let  it  be  understood  that  no 
endeavors  of  this  kind  will  influence  any  man  who  at  present  sits  here ; 
no  libels,  no  threats,  nothing  that  has  happened,  nothing  that  can 
happen ! 

8.  DEFENCE  OF  M.  PELTIER  FOR  A  LIBEL  ON  NAPOLEON. —Sir  J.  Mackintosh. 

Gentlemen,  there  is  one  point  of  view  in  which  this  case  seems  to 
merit  your  most  serious  attention.  The  real  prosecutor  is  the  master 
of  the  greatest  empire  the  civilized  world  ever  saw ;  the  defendant  is 
a  defenceless,  proscribed  exile.  I  consider  this  case,  therefore,  as  the 
first  of  a  long  series  of  conflicts  between  the  greatest  power  in  the 
world,  and  the  only  free  press  remaining  in  Europe.  Gentlemen, 
this  distinction  of  the  English  Press  is  new,  —  it  is  a  proud  and  melan- 
choly distinction.  Before  the  great  earthquake  of  the  French  Eevolu. 
tion  had  swallowed  up  all  the  asylums  of  free  discussion  on  the  Conti- 
nent, we  enjoyed  that  privilege,  indeed,  more  fully  than  others,  but 
we  did  not  enjoy  it  exclusively.  In  Holland,  in  Switzerland,  in  the 
imperial  towns  of  Germany,  the  Press  was  either  legally  or  practically 
free.  Holland  and  Switzerland  are  no  more;  and,  since  the  con.- 
mencement  of  this  prosecution,  fifty  imperial  towns  have  been  erased 
from  the  list  of  independent  States,  by  one  dash  of  the  pen.^ 

One  asylum  of  free  discussion  is  still  inviolate.  There  is  still  one 
spot  in  Europe  where  man  can  freely  exercise  his  reason  on  the  most 
important  concerns  of  society,  —  where  he  can  boldly  publish  his  judg 
ment  on  the  acts  of  the  proudest  and  most  powerful  tyrants.  The 
Press  of  England  is  still  free.  It  is  guarded  by  the  free  Constitution 
of  our  forefathers.  It  is  guarded  by  the  hearts  and  arms  of  English- 
men ;  and,  I  trust  I  may  venture  to  say,  that,  if  it  be  to  fall,  it  will  fall 
only  under  the  ruins  of  the  British  empire.  It  is  an  awful  considera- 
tion. Gentlemen.  Every  other  monument  of  European  liberty  has 
perished.  That  ancient  fabric,  which  has  been  gradually  raised  by 
the  wisdom  and  virtue  of  our  fathers,  still  stands.  It  stands,  thanks 
be  to  God  !  solid  and  entire,  — but  it  stands  alone,  ani  it  stands  amid 
mins  !  Believing,  then,  as  I  do,  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
Btrugglo,  —  that  this  is  only  the  first  battle  between  reason  and  power 
—that  jou  have  now  in  your  hands,  committed  to  your  trust,  tho  onlj 


566 


THE  STANDARr  BPEAK'±iR. 


remains  of  fret  discussion  in  Europe,  now  confined  tc  this  kingdom , 
addressing  you,  therefore,  as  the  guardians  of  the  most  important 
interests  of  mankind, — onvinced  that  the  unfettered  exercise  of  reason 
iepends  more  on  your  present  verdict  than  on  any  other  that  was 
ever  delivered  by  a  jury,  —  I  trust  I  may  rely  with  confidence  on  the 
iSHue,  I  trust  that  you  will  consider  yourselves  as  the  advanced 
guard  of  liberty ;  as  having  this  day  to  fight  the  first  battle  of  f?e€ 
discussion  against  the  most  formidable  enemy  that  it  ever  encountered  ! 


9.    THE  INSTIGATORS  OP  TREASON,  \m.  — William  Wirt. 

William  Wirt,  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  the  American  bar,  was  born  at  Bladensburg, 
Blaryland,  November  8th,  1772.  Tlie  most  memorable  case  in  which  his  talents  as  an  advo- 
cate were  exercised  was  the  celebrated  trial  of  Aaron  Burr,  in  1807,  for  treason,  in  which  Wirt 
was  retained  as  counsel  for  the  Government.  His  exquisite  description  of  the  temptation  of 
Blennerhassett  by  Burr  is  a  most  graceful  and  masterly  specimen  of  forensic  art.  In  1817  Mr. 
Wirt  was  appouited  Attorney  General  of  the  United  States.    He  died  February  18th,  1834. 

The  inquiry  is,  whether  presence  at  the  overt  act  be  necessary  tn 
make  a  man  a  traitor  ?  The  Gentlemen  say  that  it  is  necessary,  —  that 
he  cannot  be  a  principal  in  the  treason,  without  actual  presence.  The 
framers  of  the  Constitution,  informed  by  the  examples  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  and  foreseeing  that  the  liberties  of  this  Republic  might,  one 
day  or  other,  be  seized  by  the  daring  ambition  of  some  domestic 
usurper,  have  given  peculiar  importance  and  solemnity  to  the  crime 
:f  treason,  by  ingrafting  a  provision  against  it  upon  the  Constitution. 
But  they  have  done  this  in  vain,  if  the  construction  contended  for  on 
the  other  side  is  to  prevail.  If  it  require  actual  presence  at  the  scene 
of  the  assemblage  to  involve  a  man  in  the  guilt  of  treason,  how  easy 
will  it  be  for  the  principal  traitor  to  avoid  this  guilt,  and  escape  pun- 
ishment forever  !  He  may  go  into  distant  States,  from  one  State  to 
another.  He  may  secretly  wander,  like  a  demon  of  darkness,  from 
one  end  of  the  Continent  to  the  other.  He  may  enter  into  the  confi- 
dence of  the  simple  and  unsuspecting.  He  may  prepare  the  whole 
mechanism  of  the  stupendous  and  destructive  engine,  put  it  in  motion 
and  let  the  rest  be  done  by  his  agents.  He  may  then  go  a  hundred 
miles  from  the  scene  of  action.  Let  him  keep  himself  only  from  the 
scene  of  the  assemblage,  and  the  immediate  spot  of  the  battle,  and  ho 
is  innocent  in  law,  while  those  he  has  deluded  are  to  sulfer  the  death 
of  traitors  !  Who  is  the  more  guilty  of  this  treason,  the  poor,  weak, 
deluded  instruments,  or  the  artful  and  ambitious  man,  who  ccrruptfxJ 
and  misled  them  ? 

There  is  no  comparison  between  his  guilt  and  theirs ;  and  yet  yo^j 
iecure  impunity  to  while  they  are  to  sufier  death  !  Is  this  rea 
eon  ?  Is  this  moral  right  ?  No  man,  of  a  sound  mind  and  heart,  can 
doubt,  for  a  moment,  between  the  comparative  guilt  of  Aaron  Burr,  the 
prime  raaver  of  ^he  whole  mischief,  and  of  the  poor  men  on  Blennor- 
liassett's  Island,  who  called  themselves  "  Burr's  men."  In  the  case 
>f  murder,  who  is  the  more  guilty,  the  ignorant,  deluded  perpetrator 
jr  the  abominable  instigator  ?  Sir,  give  to  the  Constitution  the  con- 
Mruction  contended  for  on  the  other  side,  and  you  might  is  woli 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  —  ^ym: 


367 


ixpuiige  the  crime  of  treason  from  your  criminal  code  ,  nay,  you  Tiac! 
Detter  do  it,  for  by  this  construction  you  hold  out  the  lure  of  impunity 
tx)  the  most  dangerous  men  in  the  community,  men  of  ambition  and 
talents,  While  you  loose  the  vengeance  of  the  law  on  the  comparatively 
innocent.  If  "treason  ought  to  be  repressed,  I  ask  you,  who  is  the 
tQore  dangerous  and  the  more  likely  to  commit  it,  the  meie  insti-u- 
Dient,  who  applies  the  force,  or  the  daring,  aspiring,  elevated  geniua, 
who  devises  the  whole  plot,  but  acts  behind  the  scenes 


10.    BUltR  AND  BLENNERHASSETT.  —  William.  JVirt. 

A  PLAIN  man,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  curious  transmutations 
which  the  wit  of  man  can  work,  would  be  very  apt  to  wonder  by  what 
kind  of  legerdemain  Aaron  Burr  had  contrived  to  shuffle  himself  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pack,  as  an  accessory,  and  turn  up  poor  Blenner- 
hassett  as  principal,  in  this  treason.  Who,  then,  is  Aaron  Burr,  and 
what  the  part  which  he  has  borne  in  this  transaction  ?  He  is  its 
author,  its  projector,  its  active  executor.  Bold,  ardent,  restless  and 
aspiring,  his  brain  conceived  it,  his  hand  brought  it  into  action. 

Who  is  Blennerhassett  ?  A  native  of  Ireland,  a  man  of  letters,  A^hc 
fled  from  the  storms  of  his  own  country,  to  find  quiet  in  ours.  On 
his  arrival  in  America,  he  retired,  even  from  the  population  of  the 
Atlantic  States,  and  sought  quiet  and  solitude  in  the  bosom  of  our 
western  forests.  But  he  brought  with  him  taste,  and  science,  and 
wealth  ;  and  "  lo,  the  desert  smiled  !  "  Possessing  himself  of  a  beau- 
tiful island  in  the  Ohio,  he  rears  upon  it  a  palace,  and  decorates  it 
with  every  romantic  embellishment  of  fancy.  A  shrubbery,  that  Shen- 
Btone  might  have  envied,  blooms  around  him.  Music,  that  might  have 
charmed  Calypso  and  her  nymphs,  is  his.  An  extensive  library  spreads 
its  treasures  before  him.  A  philosophical  apparatus  ofiers  to  him  all 
the  secrets  and  mysteries  of  nature.  Peace,  tranquillity  and  innocence, 
shed  their  mingled  delights  around  him.  And,  to  crown  the  enchant- 
ment of  the  scene,  a  wife,  who  is  said  to  be  lovely  even  beyond  her 
sex,  and  graced  with  every  accomplishment  that  can  render  it  irresist- 
ible, had  blessed  him  with  her  love,  and  made  him  the  father  of  several 
children.  The  evidence  would  convince  you.  Sir,  that  this  is  but  a 
faint  picture  of  the  real  life.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  peace,  this  inno- 
cence, and  this  tranquillity,  —  this  feast  of  the  mind,  this  pure  banquet 
of  the  heart,  —  the  destro}  er  comes.  He  comes  to  turn  this  paradise 
into  a  heil.  Yet  tne  flowers  do  not  wither  at  his  approach,  and  no 
snonitory  snudderma;  through  the  bosom  of  their  unfortunate  possessor 
^arus  mm  ot  t)\?-  ruui  that  is  coming  upon  him.  A  stranger  presents 
aimseh.  it  is  Airon  Burr.  Introduced  to  their  civilities  by  the 
ligQ  ToMS  which  iic  had  lately  held  in  his  country,  he  soon  finds  his 
way  to  thon  tif^arts,  by  the  dignity  and  elegance  of  his  demeanor,  the 
tight  and  bei^utv  of  his  conversation,  and  the  seductive  and  fascinating 
TKJwer  of  his  address.  The  conquest  was  not  difficult.  Innocence  is 
'fver  siiTjple  and  credulous.    Conscious  of  no  designs  itself,  it  suspect* 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


none  m  others.  It  wears  no  guards  before  its  breast.  Every  dooi 
and  portal  and  avenue  of  the  heart  is  thrown  open,  and  all  who  choose 
it  enter.  Such  was  the  state  of  Eden,  when  the  serpent  entered  its 
bowers  ! 

The  prisoner,  in  a  more  engaging  form,  winding  himself  into  tha 
open  and  unpractised  heart  of  the  unfortunate  Blennerhassett,  found 
but  little  ditficulty  in  changing  the  native  character  of  that  heart,  and 
the  objects  of  its  affection.  By  degrees,  he  infuses  into  it  the  poison 
of  his  own  ambition.  He  breathes  into  it  the  fire  of  his  own  courage  ; 
a  daring  and  desperate  thirst  for  glory  ;  an  ardor,  panting  for  all  the 
storm,  and  bustle,  and  hurricane  of  life.  In  a  short  time,  the  whole 
man  is  changed,  and  every  object  of  his  former  delight  relinquished. 
No  more  he  enjoys  the  tranquil  scene :  it  has  become  flat  and  insipid 
to  his  taste.  His  books  are  abandoned.  His  retort  and  crucible  are 
thrown  aside.  His  shrubbery  blooms  and  breathes  its  fragrance  upon 
the  air  in  vain  —  he  likes  it  not.  His  ear  no  longer  drinks  the  rich 
melody  of  music  ;  it  longs  for  the  trumpet's  clangor,  and  the  cannon's 
roar.  Even  the  prattle  of  his  babes,  once  so  sweet,  no  longer  affects 
him  ;  and  the  angel  smile  of  his  wife,  which  hitherto  touched  liia 
bosom  with  ecstasy  so  unspeakable,  is  now  unfelt  and  unseen.  Greater 
objects  have  taken  possession  of  his  soul.  His  imagination  has  been 
dazzled  by  visions  of  diadems,  and  stars,  and  garters,  and  titles  of 
nobility.  He  has  been  taught  to  burn  with  restless  emulation  at  the 
names  of  great  heroes  and  conquerors,  —  of  Cromwell,  and  Caesar,  and 
Bonaparte.  His  enchanted  island  is  destined  soon  to  relapse  into  a 
wilderness  ;  and,  in  a  few  months,  we  find  the  tender  and  beautiful 
partner  of  his  bosom,  whom  he  lately  "  permitted  not  the  winds  of 
summer  "  to  visit  too  roughly,"  —  we  find  her  shivering,  at  midnight, 
on  the  wintry  banks  of  the  Ohio,  and  mingling  her  tears  with  the 
torrents  that  froze  as  they  fell. 

Yet  this  unfortunate  man,  thus  deluded  from  his  interest  and  his 
happiness,  —  thus  seduced  from  the  paths  of  innocence  and  peace,  — 
thus  confounded  in  the  toils  which  were  deliberately  spread  for  him 
and  overwhelmed  by  the  mastering  spirit  and  genius  of  another,  — 
this  man,  thus  ruined  and  undone,  and  made  to  play  a  subordinate  pari 
in  this  grand  drama  of  guilt  and  treason,  —  this  man  is  to  be  called 
the  principal  offender ;  while  he,  by  whom  he  was  thus  plunged  in 
misery,  is  comparatively  innocent,  a  mere  accessory  !  Is  this  reason 
Is  it  law  ?  Is  it  humanity  ?  Sir,  neither  the  human  heart  nor  the 
human  understanding  will  bear  a  perversion  so  monstrous  and  absurd  • 
80  shocking  to  the  soul ;  so  revolting  to  reason  ! 


11     REPLY  TO  MR.  WICKHAM  IN  BURR'S  TRIAL,  1807  —  William  fVtrt. 

In  proceeding  to  answer  the  argument  of  the  Gentleman,  I  will 
treat  him  with  candor.  If  I  misrepresent  him,  it  will  not  be  intea- 
honally.  I  will  not  follow  the  example  which  he  has  set  me,  on  « 
vory  recent  occasion.    I  will  endeavor  to  meet  the  Gentieniau  s  prop 


FORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  —  WEBSTER. 


369 


teitions  in  tlieir  full  force,  sind  to  answer  them  fairly.  I  will  not, 
4fl  I  am  advancing  towards  them,  with  my  mind's  eye  rLeasure  the 
tieigliC,  breadth,  and  power  of  the  proposition ;  if  I  find  it  beyond 
my  strength,  halve  it ;  if  still  beyond  my  strength,  quarter  it ;  if  stiil 
necessary,  subdivide  it  into  eighths ;  and  when,  by  this  process,  I  have 
reduced  it  to  the  proper  standard,  take  one  of  these  sections  and  toss 
it  with  an  air  of  elephantine  strength  and  superiority.  If  I  find 
myself  capable  of  conducting,  by  a  fair  course  of  reasoning,  any  one 
of  his  propositions  to  an  absurd  conclusion,  I  will  not  begin  by  stating 
that  absurd  conclusion  as  the  proposition  itself  which  I  am  going  to 
encounter.  I  will  not,  in  commenting  on  the  Gentleman's  authoritief*, 
thank  the  Gentleman,  with  sarcastic  politeness,  for  introducing  them, 
declare  that  they  conclude  directly  against  him,  read  just  so  much  of 
the  authority  as  serves  the  purpose  of  that  declaration,  omitting  that 
which  contains  the  true  point  of  the  case,  which  makes  against  me  ; 
nor,  if  forced  by  a  direct  call  to  read  that  part  also,  will  I  content 
myself  by  running  over  it  as  rapidly  and  inarticulately  as  I  can,  throw 
down  the  book  with  a  theatrical  air,  and  exclaim,  "Just  as  I  said ! " 
when  I  know  it  is  just  as  I  had  not  said. 

I  know  that,  by  adopting  these  arts,  I  might  raise  a  laugh  at  the 
Gentleman's  expense  ;  but  I  should  be  very  little  pleased  with  myself, 
if  I  were  capable  of  enjoying  a  laugh  procured  by  such  means.  1 
know,  too  that,  by  adopting  such  arts,  there  will  always  be  those  stand- 
ing around  us,  who  have  not  comprehended  the  whole  merits  of  the 
legal  discussion,  with  whom  I  might  shake  the  character  of  the  Gen- 
tleman's science  and  judgment  as  a  lawyer.  I  hope  I  shall  never  be 
capable  of  such  a  wish ;  and  I  had  hoped  that  the  Gentleman  himself 
felt  so  strongly  that  proud,  that  high,  aspiring,  and  ennobling  magna- 
nimity, which  I  had  been  told  conscious  talents  rarely  fail  to  inspire, 
that  he  would  have  disdained  a  poor  and  fleeting  triumph,  gained  by 
means  like  these. 


12.  GUILT  CANNOT  KEEP  ITS  OWN  SECRET.  —  Daniel  Webster,  on  the  trial  of  J 
F.  Knapp,  1830, /or  murder. 

An  aged  man,  without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  in  his  own  house, 
and  in  his  own  bed,  is  made  the  victim  of  a  butcherly  murder,  for  mere 
pay.  The  fatal  blow  is  given  !  and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  strug- 
gle or  a  motion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of  death  !  It 
is  the  assassin's  purpose  to  make  sure  work.  He  explores  the  wrist 
for  the  pulse.  He  feels  for  it,  and  ascertains  that  it  beats  no  longer  ! 
It  is  accomplished.  The  deed  is  done.  He  retreats,  retraces  his  stej>a 
to  the  window,  passes  out  through  it  as  he  came  in,  and  escapes.  He 
^as  done  the  murder;  —  no  eye  has  seen  him,  no  ear  has  heard  him. 
The  secret  is  his  own,  —  and  it  is  safe  ! 

Ah !  Gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Such  a  secret  can 
w  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has  neither  nook  nor 
•v)nier  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it.,  and  say  it  is  safe.  Not  ta 
24 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


speak  of  that  eye  which  glances  through  all  disguises,  and  behoiaa 
everything  as  in  the  splendor  of  noon,  such  secrets  of  guilt  are 
iever  safe  from  detection,  even  by  men.    True  it  is,  generally  speak- 
inai  that  "  murder  will  out."    True  it  is,  that  Providence  hath  s« 
oraained,  and  doth  so  govern  things,  that  those  who  break  the  great 
law  of  Heaven,  by  shedding  man's  blood,  seldom  succeed  m  avoiding 
discovery.    Especially,  in  a  case  exciting  so  much  attention  this, 
discovery  must  come,  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later.    A  thousand  eyes 
turn  at  once  to  explore  every  man,  every  thing,  every  circumstance, 
connected  with  the  time  and  place ;  a  thousand  ears  catch  every  whis- 
per ;  a  thousand  excited  minds  intensely  dwell  on  the  scene,  shedding 
all  their  light,  and  ready  to  kindle  the  slightest  circumstance  into  a 
blaze  of  discovery.    Meantime,  the  guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its  own 
secret     It  is  false  to  itself;  or,  rather,  it  feels  an  irresistible .  impulse 
of  conscience  to  be  true  to  itself.    It  labors  under  its  guilty  posses- 
sion, and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.    The  human  heart  was  not 
made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant.    It  finds  itself  preyed  on 
by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not  acknowledge  to  God  nor  man.^ ,  A 
vulture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  can  ask  no  sympathy  or  assistance,  either 
from  Heaven  or  earth.    The  secret  which  the  murderer  possesses  soon 
comes  to  possess  him  ;  and,  like  the  evil  spirits  of  which  we  read,  it 
overcomes  him,  and  leads  him  whithersoever  it  will.    He  feels  it  heai- 
mg  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his  throat,  and  demanding  disclosure.  He 
tnfnks  the  whole  world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in  his  eyes,  and 
almost  hears  its  workings  in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.    It  has 
beconu;  his  master.    It  betrays  his  discretion,  it  breaks  down  his  cour- 
age  it  conauershis  prudence.    When  suspicions,  from  without,  begin 
loe'iu  . arras's  him,  and  the  net  of  circumstance  to  entangle  him,  the 
fatal  secret  struggles,  with  still  greater  violence,  to  burst  forth.  It  must 
i  he  confessed ;  —  it  will  be  confessed ;  —  there  is  no  refuge  from  confes- 
.  sion  but  suicide  —  and  suicide  is  confession  ! 


I'i  MORAL  POWER  THE  MOST  FORMIDABLE. —Jwrf^e  McLean,  1838,  on  enter- 
'  ^  prises  from  the  U.  States  against  the  British  possessions  in  Canada. 

If  there  be  any  one  line  of  policy  in  which  all  political  parties 
^agree,  it  is,  that  we  should  keep  aloof  from  the  agitations  of  other  (xov- 
arnmcnts  ;  that  we  shall  not  intermingle  our  national  concerns  with 
'theirs;  and  nmch  more,  that  our  citizens  shall  abstain  from  acts  which 
lead  the  subjects  of  other  Governments  to  violence  and  bloodshed. 
These  violators  of  the  Law  show  themselves  to  be  enemies  of  their 
-eouritry,  .by  trampling  under  foot  its  laws,  compromising  its  honor,  and 
v,r, solving  it  in  the  most  serious  embarrassmeiit  with  a  foreign  and 
iriendly  Nation.    It  is,  indeed,  lamentable  to  reflect,  that  such  men, 
under  such  circumstances,  may  hazard  the  peace  of  the  counti-y.  it 
they  were  to  come  out  in  array  against  their  own  Government,  the  con- 
.«eMuence  to  it  would  be  far  less  serious.    In  such  an  effort,  they  could 
mt  involve  it  in  much  bloodshed,  or  in  a  heavy  expenditure,  noi 


rORENSIC  AND  JUDICIAL.  HUGO.  371 

would  its  commerce  and  general  business  be  materially  injured.  But 
A  war  with  a  powerful  Nation,  with  whom  we  have  the  most  extensiv«3 
relations,  commercial  and  social,  would  bring  down  upon  our  couutrj 
the  heaviest  calamity.  It  would  dry  up  the  sources  of  its  prosperity, 
and  deluge  it  in  blood. 

The  great  principle  of  our  Republican  institutions  cannot  be  propa- 
gated by  the  sword.  This  can  be  done  by  moral  force,  and  not  phys- 
ical.  If  we  desire  the  political  regeneration  of  oppressed  Nations,  we 
must  show  them  the  simplicity,  the  grandeur,  and  the  freedom,  of  ' our 
own  Government.  We  must  recommend  it  to  the  intelligence  and 
virtue  of  other  Nations,  by  its  elevated  and  enlightened  action,  its 
purity,  its  justice,  and  the  protection  it  affords  to  all  its  citizens,  and 
the  liberty  they  enjoy.  And  if,  in  this  respect,  we  shall  be  faithful  to 
the  high  bequests  of  our  fathers,  to  ourselves,  and  to  posterity,  we 
shall  do  more  to  liberate  other  Governments,  and  emancipate  their 
subjects,  than  could  be  accomplished  by  millions  of  bayonets.  This 
moral  power  is  what  tyrants  have  most  cause  to  dread.  It  addresses 
itself  to  the  thoughts  and  the  judgments  of  men.  No  physical  force 
can  arrest  its  progress.  Its  approaches  are  unseen,  but  its  conse- 
quences are  deeply  felt.  It  enters  garrisons  most  strongly  fortified, 
and  operates  in  the  palaces  of  kings  and  emperors.  We  should  cher- 
ish this  power  as  essential  to  the  preservation  of  our  own  Governmtnt ; 
and  as  the  most  efficient  means  of  ameliorating  the  condition  of  our 
race.  And  this  can  only  be  done  by  a  reverence  for  the  laws,  and  bv 
the  exercise  of  an  elevated  patriotism.  But,  if  we  trample  under  our 
feet  the  laws  of  our  country,  —  if  we  disregard  the  faith  of  treaties,  and 
our  citizens  engage  without  restraint  in  military  enterprises  against  the 
peace  of  other  Governments,  —  we  shall  be  considered  and  treated,  and 
justly,  too,  as  a  Nation  of  pirates. 

14.  THE  DEATH  ™A.V^Y.- Original  Translation  from  Victor  Hugo 
From  Victor  Hugo's  speech  at  the  trial  of  his  son,  Charles  Hugo,  in  Paris  June  llth  18^1 
:harged  with  yiolatmg  the  respect  due  to  the  laws,  in  an  artide 'in  tL  o'urS  "  L' EvSl' 
ment, '  upon  the  execution  of  Montcharmont,  a  sentenced  criminal.  NoSstandm^X 
fether's  eloquent  appeal,  Charles  Hugo  was  found  "  guilty  "  by  the  Ju  y,  and  S 
months'  unprisonment,  and  a  fine  of  five  hundred  francs.  '       ^'^"•^'^^ced  to  sis 

.  Gentlemen  op  the  Jury,  if  there  is  a  culprit  here,  it  is  not  my  son 
—  it  IS  myself,  _  it  is  I !  —  I,  who  for  these  last  twenty-five  years  have 
opposed  capital  punishment,  —  have  contended  for  the  inviolability  of 
human  life, —  have  committed  this  crime,  for  which  my  son  is  now 
arraigned  ^  Here  I  denounce  myself,  Mr.  Advocate  General !  I  have 
committed  it  under  all  aggravated  circumstances  ;  deliberately,  repeat- 
ediy  tenacious  y.  Yes,  this  old  and  absurd  lex  talibnis 
oi  blood  for  blood  - 1  have  combated  all  my  life  —  all  my  life.  Gen- 
tlemen  of  the  Jury  i  And,  while  I  have  breath,  I  will  continue  tx- 
combat  it,  by  all  my  efforts  as  a  writer,  by  all  my  words  and  al 
my  votes  as  a  legislator  !  I  declare  it  before  the  crucifix;  before 
hat  victim  of  the  penalty  of  death,  who  sees  and  hears  us;  before 
hat  gibbet,  to  which,  two  thousand  years  ago,  for  the  eternal  instruo 
UOK  o±  the  generations,  the  human  law  nailed  the  Divine ' 


372 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


In  all  that  my  son  has  written  on  the  subject  of  capital  punishment 
.  and  for  writing  and  publishing  which  he  is  now  .  before  you  on  triai, 
-~  in  all  that  he  has  written,  he  has  merely  proclaimed  the  sentimenti 
with  which,  from  his  infancy.  I  have  inspired  him.  Gentlemen  Jurors, 
fche  right  to  criticize  a  law,'and  to  criticize  it  severely,  —  especially  a 
»)enal  law,  —  is  placed  beside  the  duty  of  amelioration,  like  the  torch 
beside  the  work  under  the  artisan's  hand.  This  right  of  the  journalist 
m  as  sacred,  as  necessary,  as  imprescriptible,  as  the  right  of  the  legis- 
lator. 

Wliat  are  the  circumstances  ?     A  man,  a  convict,  a  sentenced 
wretch,  is  dragged,  on  a  certain  morning,  to  one  of  our  public  squares. 
There  he  finds  the  scaffold !    He  shudders,  he  struggles,  he  refuses 
die.    He  is  young  yet  —  only  twenty-nine.    Ah  !  I  know  what  you 
will  say,  —  "  He  is  a  murderer  !  "    But  hear  me.    Two  offtcers  seize 
him.   His  hands,  his  feet,  are  tied.   He  throws  off  the  two  officers.  A 
frightful  struggle  ensues.    His  feet,  bound  as  they  are,  become  entan- 
gled in  the  ladder.    He  uses  the  scaffold  against  the  scaffold  !  The 
struggle  is  prolonged.    Horror  seizes  on  the  crowd.    The  officers,  — 
sweat  and  shame  on  their  brows,  —  pale,  panting,  terrified,  despairing, 
—  despairing  with  I  know  not  what  horrible  despair,  —  shrinking  under 
that  public  reprobation  which  ought  to  have  visited  the  penalty,  and 
spared  the  passive  instrument,  the  executioner,  —  the  officers  strive 
savagely.    The  victim  clings  to  the  scaffold,  and  shrieks  for  pardon. 
His  clothes  are  torn,  —  his  shoulders  bloody,  —  still  he  resists.  >'  At 
length,  after  three  quarters  of  an  hour  of  this  monstrous  effort,  of  this 
spectacle  without  a  name,  of  this  agony,  —  agony  for  all,  be  it  under- 
stood, —  agony  for  the  assembled  spectators  as  well  as  for  the  con- 
demned man,  —  after  this  age  of  anguish.  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  th  :y 
take  back  the  poor  wretch  to  his  prison.    The  People  breathe  ag..in. 
The  People,  naturally  merciful,  hope  that  the  man  will_  be  spared. 
But  no,  —  the  guillotine,  though  vanquished,  remains  standing.  There 
it  frowns  all  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  sickened  population.    And  at  night, 
the  officers,  reinforced,  drag  forth  the  wretch  again,  so  bound  that  he 
is  but  an  inert  weight,  —  they  drag  him  forth,  haggard,  bloody,  weep- 
ing, pleading,  howling  for  life,  —  calling  upon  God,  calling  upon  his 
father  and  mother,  —  for  like  a  very  child  had  this  man  become  iii  the 
prospect  of  death,  —  they  drag  him  forth  to  execution.    He  is  hoisted 
6n  to  the  scaffold,  and  his  head  foils  K^- And  then  through  every  con- 
science runs  a  shudder.    Never  had  legal  murder  appeared  with  an 
aspect  so  indecent,  so  abominable.    All  feel  jointly  implicated  in  the 
dee-i.    It  is  at  this  moment  that  from  a  young  man's  breast  escapes  a 
cry,  wrung  from  his  very  heart,  —  a  cry  of  pity  and  of  anguish,  -—a 
ery  of  horror,  —  a  cry  of  humanity.    And  this  cry  you  would  punish  ! 
r^AM,.  in  face  of  the  appalling  facts  which  I  have  narrated,  jou  wonW 

sav  to  the  guillotine,  "  Thou  art  right !  "  and  to  Pity,  saintly  Pity 

*Thou  art  wrong  !  "    Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  it  cannot  be!  Gen 

ilenien,  I  have  finished. 


PART  FIFTH. 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL. 


1.  THE  EXAMPLE  OF  KWEKIQA..  — Francis  Jeffrey.   Born,  1113;  died,  1850 

How  absurd  are  the  sophisms  and  predictions  bj  which  the  alvo- 
eates  of  existing  abuses  have,  at  all  times,  endeavored  to  create  a  jeal. 
ousy  and  apprehension  of  reform !  You  cannot  touch  the  most  corrupt 
and  imbecile  Government,  without  involving  society  in  disorders  at 
once  frightful  and  contemptible,  and  reducing  all  things  to  the  levej 
of  an  insecure,  and  ignoble,  and  bloody  equality  !  Such  are  the  rea- 
sonings by  which  we  are  now  to  be  persuaded  that  liberty  is  incom- 
patible with  private  happiness  or  national  prosperity.  To  these  we 
need  not  now  answer  in  words,  or  by  reference  to  past  and  questiona- 
ble  examples ;  but  we  put  them  down  at  once,  and  trample  them  con- 
temptuously to  the  earth,  by  a  short  appeal  to  the  existence  and 
condition  of  America/  What  is  the  country  of  the  universe,  I 
would  now  ask,  in  which  property  is  most  sacred,  or  industry  most 
sure  of  its  reward  ?  Where  is  the  authority  of  law  most  omnipotent  ? 
Where  is  intelligence  and  wealth  most  widely  dilFused,  and  most  rap- 
idly progressive  ?  Where,  but  in  America  ?  —  in  America,  who  laid 
the  foundation  of  her  Republican  Constitution  in  a  violent,  radical, 
sanguinary  Revolution ;  America,  with  her  fundamental  Democracy 
made  more  unmanageable,  and  apparently  more  hazardous,  by  being 
broken  up  into  I  do  not  know  how  many  confederated  and  independent 
Democracies ;  America,  with  universal  suffrage,  and  yearly  elections, 
with  a  free  and  unlicensed  Press,  without  an  established  Priesthoodj 
an  hereditary^  Nobility,  or  a  permanent  Executive,  —  with  all  that  is 
combustible,  in  short,  and  pregnant  with  danger,  on  the  hypothesis 
of  Tyranny,  and  without  one  of  the  checks  or  safeguards  by  which 
alone,  they  contend,  the  benefits  or  the  very  being  of  society  can  be 
maintained ! 

There  is  something  at  once  audacious  and  ridiculous  in  maintainmg 
such  doctrines,  in  the  face  of  such  experience.  Nor  can  anything  be 
founded  on  the  novelty  of  these  institutions,  on  the  pretence  that  they 
have  not  yet  been  put  fairly  to  their  trial.  America  has  gone  on 
pr()spering  under  them  for  forty  years,  and  has  exhibited  a  picture  of 
ttninterrupted,  rapid,  unprecedented  advances  in  wealth,  populatiDn, 
iutelligerce,  and  concord ;  while  aD  the  arbitrary  Goveruments  of  th« 


61A 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Old  World  have  been  overrun  with  bankruptcies,  conspiracies  -rebel 
lions,  and  Revolutions  ;  and  are  at  this  moment  trembling  in  the  cod- 
Hciousness  of  their  insecurity,  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  repress  irre. 
pressiblo  discontents,  by  confederated  violence  and  terror. 


2   FALSE  NOTIONS  OF  GOVERNMEl'^T  YIGOB..  — Rev.  Si/dney  Smith 

I  CANNOT  describe  the  horror  and  disgust  which  I  felt  at  hearing 
Mr.  Perceval  call  upon  the  then  Ministry  for  measures  of  vigor  in 
Ireland.  If  I  lived  at  Hampstead  upon  stewed  meats  and  claret^  —if 
I  walked  to  church,  every  Sunday,  before  eleven  young  gentlemen  of 
my  own  begetting,  with  their  faces  washed,  and  their  hair  pleasingly 
combed,  — if  the  Almighty  had  blessed  me  with  every  earthly  comfort, 
—  how  awfully  would  I  pause  before  I  sent  for  the  flame  and  the  sword 
over  the  cabins  of  the  poor,  brave,  generous,  open-hearted  peasants  of 
Ireland  ! 

How  easy  it  is  to  shed  human  blood  ;  how  easy  it  is  to  persuade 
ourselves  that  it  is  our  duty  to  do  so,  and  that  the  decision  has  cosi 
us  a  severe  struggle  ;  how  much,  in  all  ages,  have  wounds  and  shriekfc 
and  tears  been  the  cheap  and  vulgar  resources  of  the  rulers  of  man- 
kind ;  how  difficult  and  how  noble  it  is  to  govern  in  kindness,  and  to 
found  an  empire  upon  the  everlasting  basis  of  justice  and  affection ! 
But  what  do  men  call  vigor  ?  To  let  loose  hussars,  and  to  bring  up 
artillery,  to  govern  with  lighted  matches,  and  to  cut,  and  push,  and 
prime,  —  I  call  this,  not  vigor,  but  the  sloth  of  cruelty  and  ignorance. 
The  vigor  I  love  consists  in  finding  out  wherein  subjects  are  aggrieved, 
in  relieving  them,  in  studying  the  temper  and  genius  of  a  People,  m 
consulting  their  prejudices,  in  selecting  proper  persons  to  lead  and 
manage  them,  in  the  laborious,  watchful,  and  difficult  task  of  increas- 
im  public  happiness,  by  allaying  each  particular  discontent.  In  thife 
way  only  will  Ireland  ever  be  subdued.  But  this,  in  the  eyes  of  Mi. 
Perceval,  is  imbecility  and  meanness  ;  —  houses  are  not  broken  open 
women  are  not  insulted,  the  People  seem  all  to  be  happy,  — they  ar 
not  ridden  over  by  horses,  and  cut  by  whips.  Do  you  call  this  vigor 
Is  this  Government  ? 


3   REJECTION  OF  THE  REFORM  BILL,  mi.  ~  Rev.  Sydney  Smith. 

Mr.  Chairman,  I  feel  most  deeply  the  rejection  of  the  Reform  Bill 
by  the  Lords,  because,  by  putting  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament  m 
collision  with  each  other,  it  will  impede  the  public  business,  and 
diminish  the  public  prosperity.  I  feel  it  as  a  churchman,  because  I 
cannot  but  Uush  to  see  so  many  dignitaries  of  the  Church  arrayed 
against  the  wishes  and  happiness  of  the  People.  T  feel  it,  more  than 
all,  because  I  believe  it  will  sow  the  seeds  of  deadly  hairea  between 
the  aristocracy  and  the  great  mass  of  the  People.  The  loss  of  the  Bil) 
t  do  not  feel,  and  for  the  best  of  all  possible  reasons,  —  because  I  have 
ttot  the  slightest  idea  that  it  is  lost.     I  have  no  more  doubt,  before 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  MAZZINI. 


^75 


the  expiration  of  the  winter,  tliat  this  Bill  will  pass,  than  1  have  thai 
the  annual  tax  bills  will  pass ;  and  greater  certainty  than  this  no  man 
?an  have,  for  Franklin  tells  us  there  are  but  two  things  certain  in  thi? 
world,  —  death  and  taxes.  As  for  the  possibility  of  the  House  of 
Lords  preventing,  ere  long,  a  reform  of  Parliament,  I  hold  it  to  be  the 
most  absurd  notion  that  ever  entered  into  human  imagination.  I 
not  mean  to  be  disrespectful ;  but  the  attempt  of  the  Lords  to  stop  the 
rogrcss  of  reform  reminds  me  very  forcibly  of  the  great  storm  of 
idmouth,  and  of  the  conduct  of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Partington  on  that 
occasion.  In  the  winter  of  1824,  there  set  in  a  great  flood  upon  that 
town;  the  tide  rose  to  an  incredible  height;  the  waves  rushed  in 
upon  the  houses,  and  everything  was  threatened  with  destruction,  in 
the  midst  of  this  sublime  and  terrible  storm,  Dame  Partington,  who 
lived  upon  the  beach,  was  seen  at  the  door  of  her  house,  with  mop  and 
pattens,  trundling  her  mop,  squeezing  out  the  sea-water,  and  vigor- 
ously pushing  away  the  Atlantic  Ocean  !  The  Atlantic  was  roused ; 
Mrs.  Partington's  spirit  was  up  ;  but  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  con- 
test was  unequal.  The  Atlantic  Ocean  beat  Mrs.  Partington.  She 
was  excellent  at  a  slop,  or  a  puddle,  but  she  should  not  have  meddled 
with  a  tempest. 

Gentlemen,  be  at  your  ease,  —  be  quiet  and  steady.  You  will  boat 
Mrs.  Partington. 


4.  ADDRESS  TO  THE  YOUNG  MEN  OF  ITALY.  — Joseph  Mazzini. 

The  following  extract,  translated  from  the  Italian,  is  from  an  impassioned  Address,  delivered 
by  Mazzini,  at  Milan,  on  the  25th  of  July,  1848,  at  the  request  of  a  National  Association,  on  the 
occasion  of  a  solemn  commemoration  of  the  death  of  the  brothers  Bandi6ra,  and  their  fellow- 
martyrs,  at  Cosenza. 

When  I  was  commissioned  by  you,  young  men,  to  proffer  in  this 
temple  a  few  words  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  the  brothers  Ban- 
diera,  and  their  fellow-martyrs  at  Cosenza,  I  thought  that  some  one 
of  those  who  heard  me  might  perhaps  exclaim,  with  noble  indignation, 
"  Why  thus  lament  over  the  dead  ?  The  martyrs  of  liberty  are  only 
worthily  honored  by  winning  the  battle  they  have  begun.  Cosenza, 
the  land  where  they  fell,  is  enslaved ;  Venice,  the  city  of  their  birth, 
is  begirt  with  strangers.  Let  us  emancipate  them  ;  and,  until  that 
moment,  let  no  words  pass  our  lips,  save  those  of  war."  But  another 
thought  arose,  and  suggested  to  me.  Why  have  we  not  conquered  ? 
Why  is  it  that,,  whilst  our  countrymen  are  fighting  for  independence  in 
the  North  of  Italy,  liberty  is  perishing  in  the  South  ?  Why  is  it 
that  a  war  which  should  have  sprung  to  the  Alps  with  the  bound  of  a 
lion  has  dragged  itself  along  for  four  months  with  the  slow,  uncertain 
motion  of  the  scorpion  surrounded  by  the  circle  of  fire  ?  How  has  the 
rapid  and  powerful  intuition  of  a  People  newly  arisen  to  life  been 
converted  into  the  weary,  helpless  effort  of  the  sick  man,  turning  frcn« 
side  to  side  ? 

Ah !  had  we  all  arisen  in  the  sanctity  of  the  idea  for  which  oui 
ttiartjrs  died  ;  had  the  holy  standard  of  their  faith  preceded  our  youtJ 


«76 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


tc  battle ;  Lad  we  made  of  our  every  thought  an  action,  and  of  c.^ 
every  action  a  thought ;  had  we  learned  from  them  that  liberty  ano 
independence  are  one  ;  —  we  should  not  now  have  war  but  victory 
Cosenza  would  not  be  compelled  to  venerate  the  memory  of  her  mar- 
tyrs in  secret,  nor  Venice  be  restrained  from  honoring  them  with  a 
monument ;  and  we,  here  gathered  together,  might  gladljr  invoke 
those  sacred  names,  without  uncertainty  as  to  our  future  destiny,  or  a 
cloud  of  sadness  on  our  brows ;  and  might  say  to  those  precursor  souls, 
^'■Rejoice,  for  your  spirit  is  incarnate  in  your  brethren,  and  they 
are  worthy  of  you."  Could  Attilio  and  Emilio  Bandiera,  and  theii 
fellow-martyrs,  now  arise  from  the  grave  and  speak  to  you,  they  would, 
believe  me,  address  you,  though  with  a  power  very  different  from  that 
given  to  me,  in  counsel  not  unlike  that  which  now  I  utter. 

Love  !  Love  is  the  flight  of  the  soul  towards  God  ;  towards  the 
great,  the  sublime,  and  the  beautiful,  which  are  the  shadow  of  God 
upon  earth.  Love  your  family  ;  the  partner  of  your  life  ;  those  around 
you,  ready  to  share  your  joys  and  sorrows  ;  the  dead,  who  were  dear 
to  you,  and  to  whom  you  were  dear.  Love  your  country.  It  is  youi 
name,  your  glory,  your  sign  among  tho  Peoples.  Give  to  it  your 
thought,  your  counsel,  your  blood.  You  are  twenty-four  millions  of 
men,  endowed  with  active,  splendid  faculties  ;  with  a  tradition  of 
glory,  the  envy  of  the  Nations  of  Europe  ;  an  immense  future  is 
before  you, —  your  eyes  are  raised  to  the  loveliest  Heaven,  and  around 
you  smiles  the  loveliest  land  in  Europe ;  you  are  encircled  by  the  Alps 
and  the  sea,  boundaries  marked  out  by  the  fi^iger  of  God  for  a  people 
of  giants.  And  you  must  be  such,  or  nothing.  Let  not  a  man  of  that 
twenty-four  millions  remain  excluded  from  the  fraternal  bond  which 
shall  join  you  together ;  let  not  a  look  be  raised  to  that  Heaven,  which 
is  not  that  of  a  free  man.  Love  humanity.  You  can  only  ascertain 
your  own  mission  from  the  aim  placed  by  God  before  humanity  at 
large.  Beyond  the  Alps,  beyond  the  sea,  are  other  Peoples,  now 
fighting,  or  preparing  to  light,  the  holy  fight  of  independence,  of  nation- 
ality, of  liberty ;  other  Peoples  striving  by  different  routes  to  reach 
the  same  goal.    Unite  with  them,  —  they  will  unite  with  you. 

And  love,  young  men,  love  and  reverence  the  Ideal ;  it  is  the  coun- 
try of  the  spirit,  the  city  of  the  soul,  in  which  all  are  brethren  who 
believe  in  the  inviolability  of  thought,  and  in  the  dignity  of  our  immor- 
tal natures.  From  that  high  sphere  spring  the  principles  which 
alune  cai  i  redeem  the  Peoples.  Love  enthusiasm,  —  the  pure  dreams 
of  tie,  tirgin  soul,  and  the  lofty  visions  of  early  youth  ;  for  they  are 
the  perfume  of  Paradise,  which  the  soul  preserves  in  issuing  from  the 
hands  of  its  Creator.  Respect,  above  all  things,  your  conscience  ; 
aave  upon  your  lips  the  truth  that  God  has  placed  in  your  hearts 
and,  while  working  together  in  harmony  in  all  that  tends  to  the  eman* 
eipation  of  our  soil,  even  with  those  who  differ  from  you,  yet  ever  beaj 
erect  your  own  banner,  and  boldly  promulgate  your  faith. 

Such  words,  young  men,  would  the  martyrs  of  Cosenza  have  spoken, 
had  thev  been  living  amongst  you.  And  here,  where,  perhaps,  iiivokoa 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIOI.AL.  —  KOSSUTH. 


ay  our  Jove,  their  holy  spirits  hover  near  nn,  I  call  upon  you  to  gathea 
them  up  in  your  hearts,  and  to  make  of  them  a  treasure  amid  tk 
itorms  that  yet  threaten  you ;  but  which,  with  the  name  of  oui 
martyrs  on  your  lips,  and  their  faith  in  your  hearts,  you  will  over 
Qome. 

God  be  witf.  you,  and  bless  Italy  ! 


6,  APPEAL  TO  THE  HUNGARIANS,  im,  -  Louts  Kossuth. 

Our  Fatherland  is  in  danger!  Citizens!  to  arms!  to  arms. 
Unless  the  whole  Nation  rise  up,  as  one  man,  to  defend  itself,  all  the 
noble  blood  already  shed  is  in  vain ;  and,  on  the  ground  where  the 
ashes  of  our  ancestors  repose,  the  Kussian  knout  will  rule  over  an 
enslaved  People !  Be  it  known  to  all  Hungary,  that  the  Austrian 
Emperor  has  let  loose  upon  us  the  barbarous  hordes  of  Eussia;  that* 
a  Russian  army  of  forty-six  thousand  men  has  broken  into  our 
country  from  Gallicia,  and  is  on  the  march ;  that  anotJier  has  entered 
Transylvania  ;  and  that,  finally,  we  can  expect  no  foreign  assistance,  as 
the  People  that  sympathize  with  us  are  kept  down  by  their  rulers, 
and  gaze  only  in  dumb  silence  on  our  struggle.  We  have  nothing  tc 
rest  our  hopes  upon,  but  a  righteous  God,  and  our  own  strength.  If 
we  do  not  put  forth  that  strength,  God  will  also  forsake  us. 

Hungary's  struggle  is  no  longer  our  struggle  alone.  It  is  the 
struggle  of  popular  freedom  against  tyranny.  Our  victory  is  the 
•rictory  of  freedom,  —  our  fall  is  the  fall  of  freedom.  God  has  chosen 
us  to  free  the  Nations  from  bodily  servitude.  In  the  wake  of  oui 
victory  will  follow  liberty  to  the  Italians,  Germans,  Poles,  Vallachians. 
Sclavonians,  Servians,  and  Croatians.  With  our  fall  goes  down  the 
star  of  freedom  over  all.  People  of  Hungary !  will  you  die  under 
the  extermiaating  sword  of  the  savage  Russians  ?  If  not,  defend 
yourselves  I  Will  you  look  on  while  the  Cossacks  of  the  far  North 
tread  under  foot  the  bodies  of  your  fathers,  mothers,  wives  and 
children  ?  If  not,  defend  yourselves !  Will  you  see  a  part  of  your 
fellow-citizens  sent  to  the  wilds  of  Siberia,  made  to  serve  in  the  wars 
of  tyrants,  or  bleed  under  the  murderous  knout  {  If  not,  defend  . 
yourselves  !  Will  you  behold  your  villages  in  flames,  and  your  har- 
vests destroyed  ?  Will  you  die  of  hanger  on  the  land  which  your 
Bweat  has  made  fertile  ?  If  not,  defend  yourselves  ! 
^  We  call  upon  ^he  People,  in  the  name  of  God  and  the  County,  ta 
rise  up  in  arms.  In  virtue  of  our  powers  and  duty,  we  order  a  gen- 
•ral  crusade  of  the  People  against  the  enemy,  to  be  declared  from 
jvery  pulpit  and  from  every  town-house  of  the  country,  and  made 
known  by  the  continual  ringing  of  bells.  One  great  efibrt,  and  the 
sountry  is  forever  saved  !  We  have,  indeed,  an  army  which  numbers 
some  two  hundred  thousand  determined  men ;  but  the  struggle  is  m 
longer  one  between  two  hostile  camps ;  it  is  the  struggle  of°tyranny 
against  freedom,  —  of  barbarism  against  all  free  Nations  Thereioif 


178 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


ftiast  alJ  the  People  seize  arms  and  support  the  army,  that,  thtd 
anited,  the  victory  of  freec^om  for  Europe  may  be  won.  Fly,  then, 
united  with  the  army,  to  arms,  every  citizen  of  the  land,  and  the 
rictory  is  sure ! 


e.    THE  CONTENTMENT  OF  EUROPE,  —  Kossuth,  Nov.  1%  1851. 

The  question,  the  comprehensive  question,  is,  whether  Europe 
sliall  be  ruled  by  the  principle  of  freedom,  or  by  the  principle  of  des* 
potism,  —  by  the  principle  of  centralization,  or  by  the  principle  of 
self-government.  Shall  fi'eedom  die  away  for  centuries,  and  mankind 
become  nothing  more  than  the  blind  instrument  of  the  ambition  of 
some  few,  —  or  shall  the  print  of  servitude  be  wiped  out  from  the  brow 
of  humanity,  and  mankind  become  noble  in  itself,  and  a  noble  instru- 
ment to  its  own  forward  progress  ?  Woe,  a  hundred-fold  woe,  to  every 
Nation,  which,  confident  in  its  proud  position  of  to-day,  would  care- 
lessly regard  the  comprehensive  struggle  of  those  great  principles ! 
It  is  the  mythical  struggle  between  Heaven  and  Hell.  Woe,  a 
thousand-fold  woe,  to  every  Nation  which  would  not  embrace,  within 
its  sorrows  and  its  cares,  the  future,  but  only  the  present  tim'^ !  In 
the  flashing  of  a  moment  the  future  becomes  present,  and  the  objects 
of  our  present  labors  have  passed  away.  As  the  sun  throws  a  mist 
before  the  sun  rises,  so  the  spirit  of  the  future  is  seen  in  the  events 
of  the  present. 

A  philosopher  was  once  questioned,  bow  could  he  prove  the  exist- 
ence of  God  ?  "  Why,"  answered  he,  "  by  opening  my  eyes.  Grod  is 
seen  everywhere,  —  in  the  growth  of  the  grass,  and  in  the  movement 
of  the  stars;  in  the  -warbling  of  the  lark,  and  in  the  thunder  of 
Heaven."  Even  so  I  prove  that  the  decisive  struggle  in  mankind's 
destiny  draws  near.  I  appeal  to  the  sight  of  your  eyes,  to  the  puls- 
ations of  your  hearts,  and  to  the  judgments  of  your  minds.  How  blind 
are  those  who  assert  that  the  continent  of  Europe,  but  for  the  revolu 
tionary  acts  of  certain  men,  would  be  quiet  and  contented !  Con- 
tented ?  With  what?  With  oppression  and  servitude?  France 
contented,  with  its  Constitution  subverted  ?  Germany  contented,  witl 
being  but  a  fold  of  sheep,  pent  up  to  be  shorn  by  some  thirty  petty 
tyrants  ?  Switzerland  contented,  with  the  threatening  ambition  of 
■jncroaching  despots  ?  Italy  contented,  with  the  King  of  Naples  ?  — 
or  with  the  priestly  Government  of  Rome,  the  worst  of  human  inven- 
tim^  Austria,  Rome,  Prussia,  Dalmatia,  contented  with  having 
been  driven  to  ljutchery,  and,  after  having  been  deceived,  plundered, 
oppressed,  and  laughed  at  as  fools?  Poland  contented  with  being 
murdered  ?  Hungary,  my  poor  Hungary,  contented  with  being  more 
than  murdered  —  buried  alive?  —  for  it  is  alive!  Russia  contented 
writh  slavery  ?  Vienna  contented  ?  Lombardy,  Pesth,  Milan,  Venice^ 
Prague,  contented  ?  —  contented  with  having  been  ignominiouslj 
\)rar»ded,  burned,  plundered,  sacked,  and  its  population  butcherrni 


1>0LI'"TCAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  —  KOSSUTH.  21  \i 

Half  of  tbie  European  continent  contented  with  the  scaffold,  with  t\u 
hangman,  with  the  prison,  with  having  no  political  rights  at  ail, 
but  having  to  pay  innumerable  millions  for  the  highly  beneficial  pur- 
pose of  being  kept  in  a  state  of  serfdom  ?  That  is  the  condition  of 
the  continent,  —  and  is  it  not  ridiculous  and  absurd  in  men  to  prate 
about  individuals  disturbing  the  peace  and  tranquillity  of  Europe  ? 
Ah !  Gentlemen,  humanity  has  a  nobler  destiny  than  to  be  the  foot- 
stool to  the  ambition  of  certain  families.  Let  the  House  of  Austria 
trust  to  its  bayonets  and  its  Czar.  The  People  of  Hungary  and  my- 
self—  we  trust  to  God !  I  know  that  the  light  has  spread,  and  even 
bayonets  think;  I  know  that  all  the  Czars  of  the  world  are  but 
mean  dust  in  the  hand  of  God ;  and  so  I  firmly  hope,  —  nay,  I  am 
certain,  —  1  shall  yet  see  Hungary  independent  and  free  ! 


7.   HEROISM  OF  THE  HUNGARIAN  PEOPLE.  —  Kossuth,  Nov.  12,  1851. 

Gentlemen  have  said  that  it  was  I  who  inspired  the  Hungarian 
People.  I  cannot  accept  the  praise.  No,  it  was  not  I  who  inspired 
the  Hungarian  People.  It  was  the  Hungarian  People  who  inspired 
me.  Whatever  I  thought,  and  still  think,  —  whatever  I  felt,  and 
still  feel,  —  is  but  the  pulsation  of  that  heart  which  in  the  breast  of 
my  People  beats !  The  glory  of  battle  is  for  the  historic  leaders. 
Theirs  are  the  laurels  of  immortality.  And  yet,  in  encountering  the 
danger,  they  knew  that,  alive  or  dead,  their  names  would,  on  the  lips 
of  the  People,  forever  live.  How  different  the  fortune.  —  how  nobler, 
how  purer,  the  heroism,  —  of  those  children  of  the  People,  who  went 
forth  freely  to  meet  death  in  their  country's  cause,  knowing  that 
where  they  fell  they  would  lie,  undistinguished  and  unknown,  —  their 
names  unhonored  and  unsung  !  Animated,  nevertheless,  by  the  love 
of  freedom  and  fatherland,  they  went  forth  calmly,  singing  -  their 
National  anthems,  till,  rushing  upon  the  batteries,  whose  cross-fire 
vomited  upon  them  death  and  destruction,  they  took  them  without  ■ 
firing  a  shot,  —  those  who  fell  falling  with  the  shout,  "Hurrah  for 
Hungary  !  "  And  so  they  died  by  thousands  —  the  unnamed  demi- 
gods !  ^  Such  is  the  People  of  Hungary.  Still  it  is  said,  it  is  I  who 
have  inspired  them.  No !  —  a  thousand  times,  no  !  It  is  they  who 
have  inspired  me. 


8.   "IN  A  JUST  CAUSE."— /fossM^A,  Dec.  11, 1851. 

To  prove  that  Washington  never  attached  to  his  doctrine  of  neu- 
Irality  more  than  the  sense  of  temporary  policy,  I  refer  to  one  of  his 
letters,  written  to  Lafayette,  wherein  he  says  :  —  "  Let  us  only  hav€ 
twenty  years  of  peace,  and  our  country  will  come  to  such  a  degree  of 
power  and  wealth  that  we  will  be  able,  in  a  just  cause,  to  dety  what- 
ever power  on  earth." 

•'In  a  just  cause! "  Now,  in  the  name  of  eternal  truth,  and  by 
ftli  ihat  is  sacred  and  dear  to  man,  since  the  history  of  mankind  v 


«8C 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


recorded  tnere  has  been  1.0  cause  more  just  than  the  cause  of  Hun. 
gary !  Never  was  there  a  People,  without  the  slightest  reason,  more 
Bacrilegiously,  more  treacherously,  and  by  fouler  means,  attacked  than 
Hungary !  Never  laave  crime,  cursed  ambition,  despotism  and 
violence,  in  a  more  wicked  manner,  united  to  crush  down  freedom,  and 
the  Tery  life,  than  against  Hungary !  Never  was  a  country  more 
mortally  outraged  than  Hungary.  All  your  sufferings,  all  your  com* 
plaints,  which,  with  so  much  right,  drove  your  forefathers  to  take  up 
arms,  are  but  slight  grievances,  compared  with  those  immense,  deep 
wounds,  out  of  which  the  heart  of  Hungary  bleeds !  If  the  cause 
of  my  people  is  not  sufficiently  just  to  insure  the  protection  of  God, 
and  the  support  of  good-willing  men,  then  there  is  no  just  cause,  and 
no  justice  on  Earth;  then  the  blood  of  no  new  Abel  will  move 
towards  Heaven ;  the  genius  of  charity.  Christian  love  and  justice, 
will  mourningly  fly  the  Earth ;  a  heavy  curse  will  upon  mortality  fall, 
oppressed  men  despair,  and  only  the  Cains  of  humanity  walk  proudly, 
with  impious  brow,  above  the  ruins  of  Liberty  on  Earth  ! 

You  have  attained  that  degree  of  strength  and  consistency,  when 
your  less  fortunate  brethren  of  mankind  may  well  claim  your  broth- 
erly, protecting  hand.  And  here  I  stand  before  you,  to  plead  the 
cause  of  these,  your  less  fortunate  brethren  —  the  cause  of  humanity. 
I  may  succeed,  or  I  may  fail.  But  I  will  go  on,  pleading  with  that 
faith  of  martyrs  by  which  mountains  were  moved ;  and  I  may  dis- 
please you,  perhaps  ;  still  I  will  say,  with  Luther,  "  May  God  kelp 
me  —  /  can  do  no  otherwise ! "  ¥/oe,  a  thousand-fold  woe,  to 
humanity,  should  there  nobody  on  earth  be  to  maintain  the  laws  of 
humanity  !  Woe  to  humanity,  should  even  those  who  are  as  mighty 
as  they  are  free  not  feel  interested  in  the  maintenance  of  the  laws 
of  mankind,  because  they  are  laws,  but  only  in  so  far  as  some  scanty 
money  interests  would  desire  it !  Woe  to  humanity,  if  every  despot 
of  the  world  may  dare  to  trample  down  the  laws  of  humanity,  and  no 
free  Nation  arise  to  make  respected  these  laws!  People  of  the 
United  States,  humanity  expects  that  your  glorious  Republic  will  prove 
to  the  world  that  liepublics  are  formed  on  virtue.  It  expects  to  see 
you  the  guardians  of  the  law  of  humanity ! 


9.  PEACE  INCONSISTENT  WITH  OPPRESSION,  —  JfossufA,  Deccmftcr  18, 1851. 

Is  the  present  condition  of  Europe  peace  ?  Is  the  scaffold  peace  ? 
-  •  the  scaffold,  on  which,  in  Lombardy,  the  blood  of  three  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-two  patriots  was  spilled  during  three  short 
years  !  Is  that  peace  ?  Are  the  prisons  of  Austria,  filled  with 
patriots,  peace  ?  Or  is  the  murmur  of  discontent  from  all  the  Nations 
peace  ?  I  believe  the  Lord  has  not  created  the  world  to  be  in  such  a 
peaceful  condition.  I  believe  He  has  not  created  it  to  be  the  prison 
of  humanity,  or  the  dominion  of  the  Austrian  jailer.  No!  Th« 
pruHent  condition  of  the  world  is  not  peace !    It  is  a  conditim  of 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAIj.     -BULtVER.  381 

»|) pression  on  the  European  Continent,  and  because  there  m  this  condi* 
fcion  of  oppression  there  cannot  be  peace ;  for  so  long  as  men  and 
N^ations  are  oppressed,  and  so  long  as  men  and  Nations  are  disooD- 
tented,  there  cannot  be  peace  —  there  cannot  be  tranquillity.  War, 
like  a  volcano,  boiling  everlastingly,  will,  at  the  slightest  opportunity, 
Oreak  out  again,  and  sweep  away  all  the  artificial  props  of  peace,  and 
of  those  interests  which  on  peace  depend.  Europe  is  continuallj 
a  great  battle-field,  —  a  great  barrack.  Such  is  its  condition ;  and, 
therefore,  let  not  those  who  call  themselves  men  of  peace  say  they  wiL 
not  help  Europe  because  they  love  peace  !  Let  them  confess  truly 
that  they  are  not  men  of  peace,  but  only  the  upholders  of  the  oppres- 
sion of  Nations.  With  me  and  with  my  principles  is  peace,  because  I 
will  always  faithfully  adhere  to  the  principles  of  liberty ;  and  only  on 
the  principles  of  liberty  can  Nations  be  contented,  and  only  with  the 
contentment  of  Nations  can  there  be  peace  on  the  earth.  With  me 
and  with  my  principles  there  is  peace,  —  lasting  peace,  —  consistent 
)>eace !  With  the  tyrants  of  the  world  there  is  oppression,  struggles, 
and  war ! 


10.  THE  TWENTY-SECOND  OF  DECEMBER,  1620.— Sir  Henry  Bulwer,  1S50. 

The  history  of  that  plain  and  simple  sect,  which  has  had  so  great  an 
influence  on  the  character  of  your  People,  stands  forth  as  one  of  the 
loftiest  among  the  many  monuments  which  attest  the  truth  of  thaii 
great  Christian  moral,  "  The  proud  shall  be  abased,  the  humble 
exalted."  It  convinces  us,  if  at  this  day  we  wanted  to  be  convinced, 
that  it  is  not  the  mere  will  of  arbitrary  Princes,  nor  the  vain  bull  of 
arrogant  Pontiffs,  that  can  lay  prostrate  the  independence  of  the  human 
mind.  All  assumption  only  breeds  resistance,  as  all  persecution  only 
makes  martyrs.  Who,  indeed,  at  the  period  to  which  this  day  recalls 
us,  were  the  mighty  of  the  earth  ?  On  the  throne  of  England  then 
sat  a  prince  justly  proud  —  if  pride  could  ever  rest  upon  sound 
foundations  —  of  the  triple  crown  which  had  recently  become  his 
family  inheritance.  In  France  the  sceptre  was  held  in  the  hands  of  a 
still  haughtier  race,  which  ruled  with  supreme  authority  over  the  most 
gallant  and  chivalrous  People  in  the  world.  What  has  become  of  the 
illustrious  lines  of  these  two  royal  houses,  —  of  that  of  the  sovereign 
who  gloried  in  the  "  non-conformity  bill,"  or  that  of  those  sovereigns 
amongst  whose  deeds  are  recorded  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew 
and  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes  ?  The  crown  of  the  Stuarts 
has  melted  into  air  in  the  one  kingdom  ;  the  sceptre  of  the  Bourbons 
has  been  shattered  into  atoms  in  the  other.  But  here,  on  this  spot, 
whore  I  am  speaking,  still  stands,  erect  and  firm,  the  pilgrim's  staff 
From  the  bruised  seed  of  the  poor  and  persecuted  Puritan  has  arisen 
one  of  the  most  powerful  and  prosperous  empires  in  the  world.  Let 
:hat  which  is  a  warning  unto  others  be  a  lesson  unto  you. 

Remember  that,  when  your  Pilgrim  Fathers  first  started  foi  the 
\jnrncan  shores,  they  trusted  themselves  to  two  vessels  ^  the  one 


S82 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEB. 


boasted  m  tb<>  i^voud  name  of  Speedwell,  the  other  had  the  gentle 
appellation  of  the  Mayflower.  Which  arrived  first  at  its  destination  l 
Ihe  vaunting  Speedwell  was  obliged  to  put  into  port,  while  the  modest 
Mayflower  dashed  gallantly  across  the  ocean.  You  were  simple  and 
unpretending  m  the  day  of  your  weakness ;  be  never  vain  or  arrogant 
m  the  day  of  your  strength.  You  were  superior  to  vour  adversity  - 
you  have  only  to  be  equal  to  your  prosperity.  And,  if  you  ever  wish 
to  know  the  principal  cause  of  the  proud  position  you  have  already 
achieved,  you  may  look  for  it  confidently  among  the  trials  and  difii- 
culties  through  which  you  have  passed.  Yes,  if  you  have  made  your 
country,  believe  me,  it  is  no  less  true  that  your  country  has  made  you. 
^  I  grieve,  whilst  I  rejoice,  to  say  that  it  is  amidst  the  general  confu- 
sion  of  crude  experiments,  terrible  uncertainties,  mystic  dreams,  and 
ripening  convulsions,  that  alone  and  singly  is  to  be  seen  towering  the 
common  Genius  of  Albion,  and  of  Albion's  transatlantic  children.  No 
tempest,  raised  in  the  heated  atmosphere  of  fantastic  theory,  clouds 
her  brow ;  no  blood,  spilt  in  civil  butchery,  bedaubs  her  garments ;  no 
poisons,  corroding  the  principles  of  public  and  domestic  morality,  tear 
her  vitals.  Serene  and  undisturbed,  she  moves  onward  firmly.  Trade 
find  agriculture  strew  her  way  with  plenty ;  law  and  religion  march 
m  her  van ;  order  and  freedom  follow  her  footsteps.  And  here,  at  this 
solemn  moment,  whilst  pouring  out  our  libations  to  the  sacred  memory 
of  our  sainted  fathers  —  here.,  I  invoke  that  Genius  to  bless  the  unioia 
of  our  kindred  races,  to  keep  steadfast  in  our  hearts  the  pleasant 
recollections  of  the  past,  to  blend  gratefully  in  our  minds  the  nobk 
aspirations  of  the  future,  to  hallow  in  one  breath  the  twin  altars  we 
will  raise  in  common  to  Memory  and  Hope  !  —  to  "  Old  Endand  and 
Young  America !  " 


11.  BRITISH  AGGRESSIONS,  m%.-Josiah  quincy,  Jr.    Born,  1743  ;  rfied,  1775. 

If  there  ever  was  a  time,  this  is  the  hour  for  Americans  to  rouse 
themselves,  and  exert  every  ability.  Their  all  is  at  hazard,  and  the 
die  of  fate  spins  doubtful.  British  taxations,  suspensions  of  legisla- 
tures,  and  standing  armies,  are  but  some  of  the  clouds  which  overshadow 
the  northern  world.  Now  is  the  time  for  this  People  to  summon  every 
aid,  human  and  divine ;  to  exhibit  every  moral  virtue,  and  call  forth 
every  Christian  grace.  The  wisdom  of  the  serpent,  the  innocence  of 
the  dove,  and  the  intrepidity  of  the  lion,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  will 
yet  save  us  from  the  jaws  of  destruction. 

By  the  sweat  of  our  brow  we  earn  the  little  we  possess ;  from  nature 
we  derive  the  common  rights  of  man ;  —  and  by  charter  we  claim  th< 
liberties  of  Britons!  Shall  we  — dare  we  —  pusillanimously  sur- 
render  our  birthright  ?  Is  the  obligation  to  our  fathers  discharged  1 
is  the  debt  we  owe  posterity  paid  ?  Answer  me,  thou  coward,  wha 
Oldest  thyself  in  the  hour  of  trial !  —  if  there  is  no  reward  in  this  life. 
00  prize  of  glory  in  the  next,  capable  of  animating  thy  dastard  soul 
t}iiuk  and  tre-'nble,  thou  miscreant !  at  the  whips  and  stripes  thy  mas 


rOLITICAL  Aj^D  occasional.  PRESTON. 


383 


ter  shall  lash  thee  with  on  earth,  and  the  flames  and  scorpions  thy 
second  master  shall  torment  thee  with  hereafter!  0,  my  country- 
men !  what  will  our  children  say,  when  they  read  the  history  of 
these  times,  should  they  find  we  tamely  gave  away,  without  one  nobk 
struggle,  the  most  invaluable  of  earthly  blessings  ?  As  they  arag  the 
galling  chain,  will  they  not  execrate  us  ?  If  we  have  any  respect  for 
things  sacred,  any  regard  to  the  dearest  treasure  on  earth,  —  if  we 
have  one  tender  sentiment  for  posterity,  if  we  would  not  be  despised 
by  the  whole  world,  —  let  us,  in  the  most  open,  solemn  manner  and 
with  determined  fortitude,  swear  we  will  die,  if  we  cannot  live^ 
freemen  ! 


12.  ELOQUENCE  AND  IjOGIG. —  mmam  C.  Preston. 

Our  popular  institutions  demand  a  talent  for  speaking,  and  create  a 
taste  for  it.  Liberty  and  eloquence  are  united,  in  all  ages.  Where 
the  sovereign  power  is  found  in  the  public  mind  and  the  public  heart, 
eloquence  is  the  obvious  approach  to  it.  Power  and  honor,  and  all 
that  can  attract  ardent  and  aspiring  natures,  attend  it.  The  noblest 
instinct  is  to  propagate  the  spirit,  —  "  to  make  our  mind  the  mind  of 
other  men,"  and  wield  the  sceptre  in  the  realms  of  passion.  In  the  art 
of  speaking,  as  in  all  other  arts,  a  just  combination  of  those  qualities 
necessary  to  the  end  proposed  is  the  true  rule  of  taste.  Excess  is 
always  wrong.  Too  much  ornament  is  an  evil,  —  too  little,  also.  The 
one  may  impede  the  progress  of  the  argument,  or  divert  attention  from 
it,  by  the  introduction  of  extraneous  matter ;  the  other  may  exhaurft 
attention,  or  weary  by  monotony.  Elegance  is  in  a  just  medium  The 
safer  side  to  err  on  is  that  of  abundance,  —  as  profusion  is  better  than 
poverty ;  as  it  is  better  to  be  detained  by  the  beauties  of  a  landscape, 
than  by  the  weariness  of  the  desert. 

It  is  commonly,  but  mistakenly,  supposed  that  the  enforcing  of 
truth  is  most  successfully  eftected  by  a  cold  and  formal  logic ;  but  the 
subtleties  of  dialectics,  and  the  fori^s  of  logic,  may  play  as  fantastic 
tricks  with  truth,  as  the  most  potent  magic  of  Fancy.  The  attempt 
to  apply  mathematical  precision  to  moral  truths  is  always  a  failure, 
and  generally  a  dangerous  one.  If  man,  and  especially  masses  of  men, 
were  purely  intellectual,  then  cold  reason  would  alone  be  influential  to 
convince ;  but  our  nature  is  most  complex,  and  many  of  the  great 
truths  which  it  most  concerns  us  to  know  are  taught  us  by  our 
instincts,  our  sentiments,  our  impulses,  and  our  passions.  Even  in 
regard  to  the  highest  and  holiest  of  all  truth,  to  know  which  concorns  • 
us  here  and  hereafter,  we  are  not  permitted  to  approach  its  investiga- 
tion  in  the  confidence  of  proud  and  erring  reason,  but  are  taught  to 
(x;come  as  little  children  before  we  are  worthy  to  receive  it.  It  is  k> 
this  complex  nature  that  the  speaker  addresses  himself,  and  the  degree 
jf  power  with  which  all  the  elements  are  evoked  is  the  criterion  of  the 
orator.  His  business,  to  be  sure,  is  to  convince,  but  more  to  persuade  : 
and  most  of  all,  to  inspire  with  noble  and  generous  passions    It  is  thi 


3b4 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


cant  of  criticism,  in  all  ages,  to  make  a  distinction  between  logic  and 
eloquence,  and  to  stigmatize  the  latter  as  declamation.  Logic  ascer- 
tains the  weight  of  an  argument,  Eloquence  gives  it  momentum.  Thf 
difference  is  that  between  the  vis  inerticR  of  a  mass  of  metal,  and  th^ 
same  ball  hurled  from  the  cannon's  mouth.  .  Eloquence  is  an  argument 
alive  and  in  motion,  —  the  statue  of  Pygmalion  inspired  with  vitality. 


13.    SENDING  RELIEF  TO  IRELAND,  1847.  — S.  S.  Prentus. 

We  have  assembled,  not  to  respond  to  shouts  of  triumph  from  the 
West,*  but  to  answer  the  cry  of  want  and  suffering  which  comes  from 
the  East.  The  Old  World  stretches  out  her  arms  to  the  New.  The 
starving  parent  supplicates  the  young  and  vigorous  child  for  bread. 
There  lies,  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  Atlantic,  a  beautiful  island, 
famous  in  story  and  in  song.  Its  area  is  not  so  great  as  that  of  the 
State  of  Louisiana,  while  its  population  is  almost  half  that  of  the 
Union.  It  has  given  to  the  world  more  than  its  share  of  genius  and 
of  greatness.  It  has  been  prolific  in  statesmen,  warriors,  and  poets. 
Its  brave  and  generous  sons  have  fought  successfully  all  battles  but 
their  own.  In  wit  and  humor  it  has  no  equal,  while  its  harp,  like  ita 
history,  moves  to  tears,  by  its  sweet  but  melancholy  pathos.  Into  this 
fair  region  God  has  seen  fit  to  send  the  most  terrible  of  all  those  fear- 
ful ministers  who  fulfil  his  inscrutable  decrees.  The  earth  has  failed 
to  give  her  increase ;  the  common  mother  has  forgotten  her  offspring, 
and  her  breast  no  longer  affords  them  their  accustomed  nourishment. 
Famine,  gaunt  and  gha'stly  famine,  has  seized  a  nation  in  its  strangling 
grasp ;  and  unhappy  Ireland,  in  the  sad  woes  of  the  present,  forgets, 
for  a  moment,  the  gloomy  history  of  the  past. 

0 !  it  is  terrible,  in  this  beautiful  world,  which  the  good  God 
has  given  us,  and  in  which  there  is  plenty  for  us  all,  that  men  should 
die  of  starvation  !  You,  who  see,  each  day,  poured,  into  the  lap  of 
your  city,  food  sufficient  to  assuage  the  hunger  of  a  nation,  can  form 
but  an  imperfect  idea  of  the  horrors  of  famine.  In  battle,  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  pride  and  strength,  little  re^ks  the  soldier  whether  the  hiss 
mg  bullet  sings  his  sudden  requiem,  or  the  cords  of  life  are  severed  by 
the  sharp  steel.  But  he  who  dies  of  hunger  wrestles  alone,  day  aftei 
day,  with  his  grim  and  unrelenting  enemy.  The  blood  recedes,  the 
flesh  deserts,  the  muscles  relax,  and  the  shiews  grow  powerless.  At 
}a«t,  the  mind,  which,  at  first,  had  bravely  nerved  itself  for  the  contest, 
gives  way,  under  the  mysterious  influences  which  govern  its  union  with 
the  body.  Then  he  begins  to  doubt  the  existence  of  an  overruling 
Providence ;  he  hates  his  fellow-men,  and  glares  upon  them  with  the 
longings  of  a  cannibal,  and,  it  may  be,  dies  blaspheming ! 

Who  will  hesitate  to  give  his  mite  to  avert  such  awful  results  ? 
Surelv  not  the  citizens  of  New  Orleans,  ever  famed  for  deeds  of  benevo- 
ftnce  and  charity.    Freely  have  your  hearts  and  purses  opened,  hero 

•  An  allusion  to  the  victories  in  Mexico,  the  news  of  which  had  bees  reoexiil] 
raoeired. 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  MOQNTFORD.  385 

tolbre,  to  the  call  of  suffering  humanity.  Nobly  did  you  respond  to 
oppressed  Greece  and  to  struggling  Poland.  Within  Erin's  borders  ia 
an  enemy  more  cruel  than  the  Turk,  more  tyrannical  than  the  Ruii 
fiian.  Bread  is  the  only  weapon  that  can  conquer  him.  Let  us,  then, 
load  ships  with  this  glorious  munition,  and,  in  the  name  of  our  common 
humanity,  wage  war  against  this  despot  Famine.  Let  us,  in  God'a 
name,  "  cast  our  bread  upon  the  waters,"  and  if  we  are  selfish  enough 
to  desire  it  back  again,  we  may  recollect  the  promise,  that  it  shall 
return  to  us  after  many  days. 


14.   A  PLEA  FOR  THE  SAILOR.  — ;ri7«am  MoMn(/or(i. 

0,  THE  difference  between  sea  and  land !  The  sailor  lives  a  life  of 
daily,  hourly,  momentary  risk,  and  he  reckons  it  by  voyages.  He 
goes  on  your  errands,  he  dares  dangers  for  you,  he  lives  a  strange  life 
for  you.  Think  of  what  winter  is  at  sea.  Think  of  what  it  is  to  have 
the  waves  discharge  themselves  on  a  ship,  with  a  roar  like  artillery, 
and  a  force  not  much  less.  Think  of  what  it  is  for  a  sailor  to  be  aloft 
m_  the  rigging,  holding  on  by  a  rope,  wet  with  the  rain,  or  numbed 
with  the  cold,  and  with  the  mast  of  the  ship  swaying,  with  the  wind, 
like  a  reed.  Think  of  what  it  is  when  men  drop  from  the  yard-arms 
mto  the  sea,  or  when  they  are  washed  from  the  deck  like  insects. 
Think  of  what  it  is,  day  and  night,  without  rest  and  \vithout  sleep,  to 
strive  against  a  storm,  ^  against  the  might  of  wind  and  waves,  -  ■ 
every  wave  a  mighty  enemy  to  surmount.  Think  what  it  is  to  strike 
on  a  rock,  — to  shriek  but  once,  and  then,  perhaps,  be  drowned. 
Ihmk  of  the  diseases  that  come  of  hardships  at  sea.    Think  of  what  it 

to  be  sick  in  a  lazaretto,  —  to  lie  dying  in  a  foreign  hospital. 
Ihmk  of  all  this,  and  then,  perhaps,  you  will  think  rightly  of  what  it 
is  to  be  a  sailor. 

_  Think  of  what  you  yourselves  owe  to  the  sailor.  It  is  through  his 
intervention  that  you  are  possessed  of  those  comforts  that  make  of  a 
house  a  home.  Live  comfortably  you  cannot,  —  live  at  all,  perhaps, 
you  cannot,  —  without  seamen  will  expose  themselves  for  you,  risk 
themselves  for  you,  and,  alas !  often,  very  often,  drown,  —  drown  in 
your  service,  —  drown,  and  leave  widows  and  orphans  destitute.  0  ^ 
what  a  consideration  it  is,  that,  so  often,  my  happiness  is  from  suffer- 
ing somewhere !  My  saltation  is  from  a  death  upon  a  cross.  The 
church  I  worship  in  has  every  one  of  its  pillars  deep  founded  in  a 
martyr's  grave.  The  philosophy  that  delights  me  for  its  truth  is  whtit 
3ome  wise  man  had  first  to  learn  in  bitterness.  My  comforts  are  mine, 
many  of  them,  througu  other  men's  miseries.  Commerce  spread?  the 
world_  about  me  with  blessings,  but  not  without  there  being  shipwrecks 
Irom  It  on  every  coast,  and  deaths  by  drowning,  —  several  every  day. 
the  year  round.  " 

Ah!  yes;  fx)  beg  with  me,  to  plead  with  me,  for  the  widow  and 
orphan  ot  the  mariner,  there  comes,  from  many  a  place  where  seamen 
l»a\e  died,  a  call,  a  prayer,  a  beseeching  voice ;  —  a  cry  from  the  coasf 
25 


Bern 


5gO  THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

of  Guinoa,  where  there  is  fever  evermore ;  a  cry  from  Arctic 
where  icebergs  are  death ;  a  cry  from  coral  reefs,  that  ships  are  wrecked 
on  horribly ;  a  cry  from  many  a  foreign  city,  where  the  sailor,  as  k« 
dies,  speaks  of  his  family,  and  is  not  understood ;  a  cry  from  mid-ocean, 
where  many  a  sailor  drops  into  a  sudden  grave  !  They  ask  your  help, 
your  charity,  for  the  widows  and  the  orphans  of  those  who,  in  times  past, 
have  gone  down  to  the  sea,  —  have  gone  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  ! 

15.    OUR  RELATIONS  TO  ENGLAND,  1824.  —  JEdwarcf  jE:i;ere«. 

Who  does  not  feel,  what  reflecting  American  does  not  acknowledge, 
the  incalculable  advantages  derived  to  this  land  out  of  the  deep  foun- 
tains of  civil,  intellectual,  and  moral  truth,  from  which  we  have  drawn 
in  Eno-land  ?    What  American  does  not  feel  proud  that  his  fathers 
were  the  countrymen  of  Bacon,  of  Newton,  and  of  Locke  ?    Who  does 
not  know,  that,  while  every  pulse  of  civil  liberty  in  the  heart  of  the 
British  empire  beat  warm  and  full  in  the  bosom  of  our  ancestors,  the 
sobriety,  the  firmness,  and  the  dignity,  with  which  the  cause  of  free 
Drinciples  stru<^gled  into  existence  here,  constantly  found  encourage- 
ment and  countenance  from  the  friends  of  liberty  there  ?    Who  does 
not  remember,  that,  when  the  Pilgrims  went  over  the  sea,  the  prayera 
of  the  faithful  British  confessors,  in  all  the  quarters  of  their  disper- 
sion,  went  over  with  them,  while  their  aching  eyes  were  strained  till 
the  star  of  hope  should  go  up  in  the  western  skies?    And  who  wiU 
ever  forget,  that,  in  that  eventful  struggle  which  severed  these  youth- 
ful republics  trom  the  British  crown,  there  was  not  heard,  throughout 
our  continent  in  arms,  a  voice  which  spoke  louder  for  the  rights  of 
America  than  that  of  Burke,  or  of  Chatham,  withm  the  walls  of  the 
British  Parliament,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  British  throne?    No;  for 
myself,  I  can  truly  say,  that,  after  my  native  land,  I  fcel  a  tenderness 
and  a  reverence  for  that  of  my  fathers.    The  pride  I  take  m  my  own 
country  makes  me  respect  that  from  which  we  are  sprung.    In  touch- 
ing the  soil  of  England,  I  seem  to  return,  like  a  descendant,  to  the  old 
family  seat,  — to  come  back  to  the  abode  of  an  aged  and  venerable 
parent.    I  acknowledge  this  great  consanguinity  of  nations.  The 
eound  of  my  native  language,  beyond  the  sea,  is  a  music,  to  my  eai% 
beyond  the  richest  strains  of  Tuscan  softness  or  Castilian  majesty.  1 
am  not  yet  in  a  land  of  strangers,  while  surrounded  by  the  manners, 
the  habits,  and  the  institutions,  under  which  I  have  been  brought  up. 
1  wander  delighted  through  a  thousand  scenes,  which  the  historians 
and  the  poets  have  made  familiar  to  us,  —  of  which  the  names  are 
interwoven  with  our  earliest  associations.    I  tread  with  reverence  the 
spots  where  I  can  retrace  the  footsteps  of  our  sufiering  fathers.  Tht 
pleasant  land  of  their  birth  has  a  claim  on  my  heart.    It  seems  to  nae 
a  classic,  yea,  a  holy  land ;  rich  in  the  memory  of  the  great  and  good 
the  champions  and  the  martyrs  of  liberty,  the  exiled  heralds  of  truth 
'Wjd  richer,  as  the  parent  of  this  land  of  promise  in  the  West.  ^ 

I  am  not  —  I  need  not  say  I  am  not  —  the  panegyrist  of  Kngland 
I  am  not  dazzle(J  by  her  riches,  nor  awed  by  her  power.    The  soeptr« 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL,  EVERETT. 


387 


'.he  mitre,  and  tlie  coronet,  —  stars,  garters,  and  blue  ribbons,  —  seem 
GO  me  poor  things  for  great  men  to  contend  for.  Nor  is  my  admiratico 
iwakened  by  her  armies,  mustered  for  the  battles  of  Europe;  lier 
oavies,  overshadowing  the  ocean  ;  nor  her  empire,  grasping  the  furths^t. 
East.  It  is  these,  and  the  price  of  guilt  and  blood  by  which  they  are 
fcoo  often  maintained,  which  are  the  cause  why  no  friend  of  liberty  can 
salute  her,  with  undivided  affections.  But  it  is  the  cradle  and  the 
refuge  of  free  principles,  though  often  persecuted ;  the  school  of  reli- 
gious liberty,  the  more  precious  for  the  struggles  through  which  it  has 
passed ;  the  tombs  of  those  who  have  reflected  honor  on  all  who  speak 
the  English  tongue  ;  it  is  the  birth-place  of  our  fathers,  the  home  of 
the  Pilgrims ;  —  it  is  these  which  I  love  and  venerate  in  England.  I 
should  feal  ashamed  of  an  enthusiasm  for  Italy  and  Greece,  did  I  not 
also  feel  it  for  a  land  like  this.  In  an  American,  it  would  seem  w>  me 
degenerate  and  ungrateful  to  hang  with  passion  upon  the  traces  of 
Homer  aod  Virgil,  and  follow,  without  emotion,  the  nearer  and  plainer 
footsteps  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton.  I  should  think  him  cold  in  hig 
love  for  hJs  native  land  who  felt  no  melting  in  his  heart  for  that  other 
native  country,  which  holds  the  ashes  of  his  forefathers. 


16.    IMPERISHABILITY  OF  GREAT  EXAMPLES.  — Edwara  Everett. 

To  be  cold  and  breathless,  —  to  feel  not  and  speak  not,  —  this  is  not 
the  end  of  existence  to  the  men  who  have  breathed  their  spirits  into  the 
institutions  of  their  country,  who  have  stamped  their  characters  on  the 
pillars  of  the  age,  who  have  poured  their  hearts'  blood  into  the  channels 
of  the  public  prosperity.  Tell  me,  ye  who  tread  the  sods  of  yon 
sacred  height,  is  Warren  dead  ?  Can  you  not  still  see  him,  not  pale 
and  prostrate,  the  blood  of  his  gallant  heart  pouring  out  of  his  ghastly 
wound,  but  moving  resplendent  over  the  field  of  honor,  with  the  rose 
of  Heaven  upon  his  cheek,  and  the  fire  of  liberty  in  his  eye  ?*  Tell  me, 
ye  who  make  your  pious  pilgrimage  to  the  shades  of  Vernon,  is  Wash- 
ington, indeed,  shut  up  in  that  cold  and  narrow  house  ?  That  which 
made  these  men,  and  men  like  these,  cannot  die.  The  hand  that  traceJ 
the  charter  of  Independence  is,  indeed,  motionless ;  the  eloquent  lips 
that  sustained  it  are  hushed ;  but  the  lofty  spirits  that  conceived, 
resolved,  and  maintained  it,  and  which  alone,  to  such  men,  "  make  It 
UCa  to  live,"  these  cannot  expire : 

"  These  shall  resist  the  empire  of  decay, 
When  time  is  o'er,  and  worlds  have  passed  away  ; 
Cold  in  the  dust  the  perished  heart  may  lie, 
But  that  which  warmed  it  once  can  never  die.** 


17.  CIYILIZATION  0¥  AmiG A,  1832.  — Edward  Everett. 

It  is  said  that  it  is  impossible  to  civilize  Africa.  Why?  Wny  k 
it  impossible  to  civilize  man  in  one  part  of  the  earth  more  than  in 
another?  Consult  history.  Was  Italy  — was  Greece —  the  cradle 
of  civilization  ?    No.    As  far  back  as  the  lights  of  tradition  reach, 


888 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Africa  was  the  cradle  of  science,  while  Syria,  and  Greece,  and  lUy 
were  yet  covered  with  darkness.  As  far  back  as  we  can  trace  th* 
Erst  rudiments  of  improvement,  they  came  from  the  very  head  waters 
of  the  Nile,  far  in  the  interior  of  Africa ;  and  there  are  yet  to^  be 
found,  in  shapeless  ruins,  the  monuments  of  this  primeval  civilization. 
To  come  down  to  a  much  later  period,  while  the  West  and  North  of 
Europe  were  yet  barbarous,  the  Mediterranean  coast  of  Africa  was 
ailed  with  cities,  academies,  museums,  churches,  and  a  highly  civilized 
population.  What  has  raised  the  Gaul,  the  Belgium,  the  Germany, 
the  Scandinavia,  the  Britain,  of  ancient  geography,  to  their  present 
improved  and  improving  condition  ?  Africa  is  not  now  sunk  lower  than 
most  of  those  countries  were  eighteen  centuries  ago  ;  and  the  engines 
of  social  influence  are  increased  a  thousand-fold  in  numbers  and  effi- 
cacy. It  is  not  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  since  Scotland,  whose 
metropolis  has  been  called  the  Athens  of  modern  Europe,  —  the  country 
of  Hume,  of  Smith,  of  Robertson,  of  Blair,  of  Stewart,  of  Brown,  of 
JetFrey,  of  Chalmers,  of  Scott,  of  Brougham,  —  was  a  wilderness,  mfested 
by  painted  savages.  It  is  not  a  thousand  years  since  the  North  of 
Germany,  now  filled  with  beautiful  cities,  learned  universities,  and  the 
best  educated  population  in  the  world,  was  a  dreary,  pathless  forest. 

Is  it  possible  that,  before  an  assembly  like  this,— an  assembly  of 
Americans,  —  it  can  be  necessary  to  argue  the  possibility  of  civilismg 
Africa,  through  the  instrumentality  of  a  colonial  estabhshment,  and 
that  in  a  comparatively  short  time  ?  It  is  but  about  ten  years  smce 
the  foundations  of  the  colony  of  Liberia  were  laid ;  and  every  one 
acquainted  with  the  early  history  of  New  England  knows  that  the  col- 
ony at  Liberia  has  made  much  greater  progress  than  was  made  by  the 
settlement  at  Plymouth  in  the  same  period.  More  than  once  were  the 
first  settlements  in  Virginia  in  a  position  vastly  less  encouragmg  than 
that  of  the  American  colony  on  the  coast  of  Africa ;  and  yet,  from 
these  feeble  beginnings  in  New  England  and  Virginia,  what  has  not  been 
brought  about  in  two  hundred  years  ?  Two  hundred  years  ago,  and 
the  Continent  of  North  America,  for  the  barbarism  of  its  native  pop- 
ulation, and  its  remoteness  from  the  sources  of  improvement,  was  all 
that  Africa  is  now.  Impossible  to  civilize  Africa  !  Sir,  the  work  is 
already,  in  no  small  part,  accomplished. 


18.   WHAT  GOOD  WILL  THE  MONUMENT  DO?  im.  — Edward  Everett 

I  AM  met  with  the  great  objection.  What  good  will  the  Momimeni 
do?  I  beg  leave,  Sir,  to  exercise  my  birthright  as  a  Yankee,  and 
answe]-  this  question  by  asking  two  or  three  more,  to  which  1  believe 
it  will  be  quite  as  difficult  to  furnish  a  satisfactory  reply.  I  am  asked, 
What  frood  will  the  monument  do  ?  And  I  ask,  what  good  does  any- 
thing  do  ?  What  is  good  ?  Does  anything  do  any  good  ?  The  f)er. 
sons  who  suggest  this  objection,  of  course,  think  that  there  are  some 
oroiccts  and  undertakings  that  do  good ;  and  I  should  therefore  like 
to  have  the  idea  of  good  explainpd,  and  analyzed,  and  run  out;  to  lU 


JPOLITICAL  AKD  OCCASIONAL.  —  WEBSTER.  388 

e»ements.  '/Hien  this  is  done,  if  I  do  not  demonstrate,  in  aboi*  \  twc 
minutes,  that  the  monument  does  the  same  kind  of  good  that  anything 
else  does,  I  shall  consent  that  the  huge  blocks  of  granite,  already  laid, 
should  be  reduced  to  gravel,  and  carted  off  to  fill  up  the  mill-pond; 
for  that,  I  suppose,  is  one  of  the  good  things.  Does  a  railroad  or  canal 
do  good  ?  Answer,  yes.  And  how  ?  It  facilitates  intercoarse,  opens 
markets,  and  increases  the  wealth  of  the  country.  But  what  is  this 
good  for  ?  Why,  individuals  prosper  and  get  rich.  And  what  good 
does  that  do  ?  Is  mere  wealth,  as  an  ultimate  end,  —  gold  and  silver, 
without  aii  inquiry  as  to  their  use,  —  are  these  a  good  ?  Certainly  not! 
I  should  insult  this  audience  by  attempting  to  prove  that  a  rich  man, 
ds  such,  is  neither  better  nor  happier  than  a  poor  one.  But,  as  men  grow 
rich,  they  live  better.  Is  there  any  good  in  this,  stopping  here  ?  Is 
mere  animal  life  —  feeding,  working,  and  sleeping  like  an  ox  —  entitled 
to  be  called  good  ?  Certainly  not.  But  these  improvements  increase 
the  population.  And  what  good  does  that  do  ?  Vf  here  is  the  good  in 
counting  twelve  millions,  instead  of  six,  of  mere  feeding,  working, 
sleeping  animals  ?  There  is,  then,-  no  good  in  the  mere  animal  Hit] 
^ixcept  that  it  is  the  physical  basis  of  that  higher  moral  existence, 
which  resides  in  the  soul,  the  heart,  the  mind,  the  conscience ;  in  good 
principles,  good  feelings,  and  the  good  actions  (M  the  more  disinter- 
ested, the  more  entitled  to  be  called  good)  which  flow  from  them. 
Now,  Sir,  I  say  that  generous  and  patriotic  sentiments,  sentiments 
which  prepare  us  to  serve  our  country,  to  live  for  our  country,  to  die 
for  our  country,  —  feelings  like  those  which  carried  Prescott  and  War- 
ren and  Putnam  to  the  battle-field,  are  good,  —  good,  humanly  speak- 
ing, of  the  highest  order.  It  is  good  to  have  them,  good  to  encourage 
them,  good  to  honor  them,  good  to  commemorate  them ;  and  whatevei 
tends  to  animate  and  strengthen  such  feelings  does  as  much  right  down 
practical  good  as  filling  up  low  grounds  and  building  railroads.  This 
is  my  demonstration. 


19.  TO  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  VETERANS. -DanieZ  Webster,  at  the  laying  of  the  cor- 
ner-stone  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  June  17,  1825. 

We  hold  still  among  us  some  of  those  who  were  active  agents  in 
the  scenes  of  1775,  and  who  are  now  here,  from  every  quarter  of  New 
England,  to  visit  once  more,  and  under  circumstances  so  afiecting,  — 
[  had  almost  said  so  overwhelming,  —  this  renowned  theatre  of  their 
courage  and  patriotism. 

Venerable  men !  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former  genera- 
tion. Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out  your  lives,  that  you 
might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You  are  now,  where  you  stood,  fifty 
years  ago,  this  very  hour,  with  your  brothers,  and  your  neighbors, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  strife  for  your  country.  Behold,  how 
altered.  The  same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your  heads;  the  same 
Dwan  rolls  at  your  feet ;  but  all  else  how  changed  !  You  hear  now 
ao  roai  of  hostile  cannon  you  see  now  no  mixed  volumes  of  sraoki 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKJ^. 


and  tame  rising  from  burning  Charlestown.  The  ground  strewed  with 
the  dtAid  and  the  dying  ;  the  impetuous  charge ;  the  steady  and  sue* 
cessful  repulse  ;  the  loud  call  to  repeated  assa,ult ;  the  summoning  of 
all  that  is  manly  to  repeated  resistance  ;  a  thousand  bosoms  freely  and 
fearlessly  bared  in  an  instant  to  whatever  of  terror  there  may  bo  iii 
war  and'  death;  —  all  these  you  have  witnessed,  but  you  witness  them  no 
more.  All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder"  metropolis,  its  towers  and 
roofs,  which  you  thea  saw  filled  with  wives  and  children  and  country- 
men  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking  with  unutterable  emotions  foi 
the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented  you  to-day  with  the  sight  of 
its  whole  happy  population  come  out  to  welcome  and  greet  you  with 
an  universal  jubilee.  All  is  peace ;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight 
of  your  country's  happiness,  ere  you  slumber  iu  the  grave  forever. 

But,  alas  !  you  are  not  all  here.  Time  and  the  sword  have  thinned 
your  ranks.  Preseott,  Putnam,  Stark,  Brooks,  Read,  Pomeroy,  Bri<lge ! 

 our  eyes  seek  for  you  in  vain  amidst  this  broken  band.  But 

let  us  not  too  much  grieve,  that  you  have  met  the  common  fate  of 
men.  You  lived  to  see  your  country's  independence  established,  and 
to  sheathe  your  swords  from  war.  On  the  light  of  Liberty,  you  saw 
arise  the  light  of  Peace,  like 

"  Another  mom 
Risen  on  mid-noon ; "  — 

and  the  sky  on  which  you  closed  your  eyes  was  cloudless. 

But  —  ah  !  —  him  !  the  first  great  martyr  in  this  great  cause  ! 
Him  !  the  premature  victim  of  his  own  self-devoting  heart !  Him  ! 
the  head  of  our  civil  councils,  and  the  destined  leader  of  our  military 
bands,  whom  nothing  brought  hither  but  the  unquenchable  fire  of  his 
own  spirit !  Him !  cut  off  by  Providence  in  the  hour  of  overwhelm- 
ing anxiety  and  thick  gloom  ;  falling,  ere  he  saw  the  star  of  his  coun- 
try rise  ;  pouring  out  his  generous  blood,  like  water,  before  he  knew 
whether  it  would  fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of  bondage!  — how  shall 
I  struggle  with  the  emotions  that  stifle  the  utterance  of  thy  name  ! 
Our  poor  work  may  perish,  but  thine  shall  endure  !  This  monument 
may  moulder  away  ;  the  solid  ground  it  rests  upon  may  sink  down  to 
a  level  with  the  sea ;  'mt  thy  memory  shall  not  fail !  Wheresoever 
among  men  a  heart  shall  be  found  that  beats  to  the  transports  of 
patriotism  and  liberty,  its  aspirations  shall  be  to  claim  kindred  with 

thy  spirit !  .  1 1  v 

Veterans  !  you  are  the  remnant  of  many  a  well-fought  field.  You 
bring  with  you  marks  of  honor  from  Trenton  and  Monmouth,  from 
ITor&own,  Camden,  Bennington,  and  Saratoga.  Veterans  of  half  a 
century  !  when,  in  your  youthful  days,  you  put  everything  at  hazard 
in  your  country's  cause,  good  as  that  cause  was,  and  sanguine  as  youth 
IS,  still  your  fondest  hopes  did  not  stretch  onward  to  an  hour  like  this' 
Look  aoroad  into  this  lovely  land,  which  your  young  valor  defended, 
and  mark  the  happiness  with  which  it  is  filled  ;  yea,  look  abroad  intc 
the  whole  ojirth,  and  see  what  a  name  you  have  contributed  ta  give  t< 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  —  WEBSTER. 


four  country,  and  what  a  praise  you  have  added  to  freedom,  and  then 
lejoice  in  the  sympathy  and  gratitude  which  beam  upon  your  last 
iays  firom  the  improved  condition  of  mankind. 


20.  SANCTITY  OF  STATE  OBLIGATIONS,  1840.  —  ff^efis/er. 

We  have  the  good  fortune,  under  the  blessing  of  a  benign  Provi. 
donee,  to  live  in  a  country  which  we  are  proud  of  for  many  things,  — 
for  its  independence,  for  its  public  liberty,  for  its  free  institutions,  for 
its  public  spirit,  for  its  enlightened  patriotism ;  but  we  are  proud  also. 
—  and  it  is  among  those  things  we  should  be  the  most  proud  of,  — wo 
are  proud  of  its  public  justice,  of  its  sound  faith,  of  its  substantially 
correct  morals  in  the  administration  of  the  Government,  and  the  gen 
sral  conduct  of  the  country,  since  she  took  her  place  among  the  nations 
of  the  world.  ^  But  among  the  events  which  most  threaten  our  char- 
acter  and  standing,  and  which  so  grossly  attach  on  these  moral  princi- 
pies  that  have  hitherto  distinguished  us,  are  certain  sentiments  which 
have  been  broached  among  us,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  have  more  gup. 
porters  than  they  ought,  because  they  strike  at  the  very  foundation  of 
the  social  system.  I  do  not  speak  especially  of  those  which  have  been 
promulgated  by  some  person  in  my  own  State,  but  of  others,  which  go 
yet  deeper  into  our  political  condition,  I  refer  to  the  doctrine  that 
one  generation  of  men,  acting  under  the  Constitution,  cannot  bind 
another  generation,  who  are  to  be  their  successors  ;  on  which  ground 
it  is  held,  among  other  things,  that  State  bonds  are  not  obligatory. 

What !  one  generation  cannot  bind  another  ?  Where  is  The  link  of 
separation  ?  It  changes  hourly.  The  American  community  to-day  ij) 
not  the  same  with  the  American  community  to-morrow.  The  commu- 
nity in  which  I  began  this  day  to  address  you  is  not  the  same  as  it  is 
at  this  moment.  How  abhorrent  is  such  a  doctrine  to  those  great 
truths  which  teach  us  that,  though  individuals  flourish  and  decay, 
States  are  immortal ;  that  political  communities  are  ever  young,  ever 
green,  ever  flourishing,  ever  identical !  The  individuals  who  compose 
them  may  change,  as  the  atoms  of  our  bodies  change  ;  but  the  politica] 
community  still  exists  in  its  aggregate  capacity,  as  do  our  bodies  in 
their  natural;  with  this  only  difierence,  —  that  we  know  that  our 
natural  frames  must  soon  dissolve,  and  return  to  their  original  dust ; 
but,  for  our  country,  she  yet  lives,  —  she  ever  dwells  in  our  nearts, 
and  it  will,  even  at  that  solemn  moment,  go  up  as  our  last  aspiration 
to  Heaven,  that  she  may  be  immortal ! 


n.  THE  FOURTH  OF  JVLY.  -  Daniel  fFehster,  at  TVashinrton,  D  C,  July    mi,  7m 

laying  the  corner-stone  of  the  new  wing  of  the  Capitol. 

This  is  that  day  of  the  year  which  announced  to  mankind  the  grea* 
&ct  of  American  Independence !  This  fresh  and  brilliant  morning 
blesses  our  vision  with  another  beholding  of  the  birth-day  cf  our  nation  • 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


and  we  see  thst  nation,  of  recent  origin,  now  among  the  most  consid 
erablo  and  powerful,  and  spreading  over  the  continent  from  sea  to  sea 

«  Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way; 
The  four  first  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day, — 
f  Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last." 

On  the  day  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  our  illustrious  fathers 
performed  the  first  scene  in  the  last  great  act  of  this  drama  ;  one,  id 
real  im.portance,  infinitely  exceeding  that  for  which  the  great  English 
poet  invoked 

<*  A  muse  of  fire, 
A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act. 
And  monarchs  to  beliold  the  swelling  scene." 

The  Muse  inspiring  our  fathers  was  the  Genius  of  Liberty,  all  on  fire 
with  a  sense  of  oppression,  and  a  resolution  to  throw  it  off ;  the  whole 
world  was  the  stage,  and  higher  characters  than  princes  trod  it ;  and, 
instead  of  monarchs,  countries,  and  nations,  and  the  age,  beheld  the 
swelling  scene.  How  well  the  characters  were  cast,  and  how  well  each 
acted  his  part,  and  what  emotions  the  whole  performance  excited,  let 
history,  now  and  hereafter,  tell. 

On  the  Fourth  of  July,  1776,  the  representatives  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  in  Congress  assembled,  declared  that  these  United 
Colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  States. 
This  declaration,  made  by  most  patriotic  and  resolute  men,  trusting  in 
the  justice  of  their  cause,  and  the  protection  of  Heaven,  —  and  yet 
made  not  without  deep  solicitude  and  anxiety,  —  has  now  stood  for 
seventy-five  years,  and  still  stands.  It  was  sealed  in  blood.  It  has 
met  dangers,  and  overcome  them  ;  it  has  had  enemies,  and  conquered 
them  ;  it  has  had  detractors,  and  abashed  them  all ;  it  kas  had  doubt- 
ing  friends,  but  it  has  cleared  all  doubts  away  ;  and  now,  to-day,  rais« 
ing  its  august  form  higher  than  the  clouds,  twenty  millions  of  people 
contemplate  it  with  hallowed  love,  and  the  world  beholds  it,_  and  the 
consequences  which  have  followed  from  it,  with  profound  admiration. 

This  anniversary  animates,  and  gladdens,  and  unites,  all  American 
hearts.  On  other  days  of  the  year  we  may  be  party  men,  indulging 
in  controversies  more  or  less  important  to  the  public  good  ;  we  may 
have  likes  and  dislikes,  and  we  may  maintain  our  political  differences, 
often  with  warm,  and  sometimes  with  angry  feelings.  But  to-day  we 
are  Americans  all ;  and  all  nothing  but  Americans.  As  the  great 
luminary  over  our  heads,  dissipating  mists  and  fogs,  now  cheera  the 
whole  hemisphere,  so  do  the  associations  connected  with  this  day  dis- 
perse all  cloudy  and  sullen  weather  in  the  minds  and  feelings  of  true 
Americans.  Every  man's  heart  swells  within  him,  every  man's  port 
and  bearing  becomes  somewhat  more  proud  and  lofty,  as  he  remembers 
that  sevcntjz-five  years  have  rolled  away,  and  that  the  great  inheritance 
of  liberty  is  still  his ;  his,  undiminished  and  unimpaired  ;  his,  in  all 
its  original  glory  ;  his  to  enjoy,  his  to  protect,  and  his  to  tran-mit  t« 
future  generations. 


POMTICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  WEBSTER. 


39a 


I        z2    A^>0STR0PHE  1 0  WASHINGTON,  —  On  the  last-nsmed  occasion 

I  Fellow-citizens  :  What  contemplations  are  awakened  in  out  minds 
we  assemble  here  to  reenact  a  scene  like  that  performed  by 
Washington  A  Methinks  I  see  his  venerable  form  now  before  me,:  as 
presented  in  the  glorious  statue  bj  Houdon,  now  in  the  Capitol  of 
Virginia.  ;  He  is  dignified  and  grave ;  but  concern  and  anxiety  seem 
to  soften  the  lineaments  of  his  countenance.  The  government  over 
which  he  presides  is  yet  in  the  crisis  of  experiment.  Not  free  from 
troubles  at  home,  he  sees  the  world  in  commotion  and  arms  all  around 
him.  He  sees  that  imposing  foreign  powers  are  half  disposed  to 
try  the  strength  of  the  recently  established  American  government. 
Mighty  thoughts,  mingled  with  fears  as  well  as  with  hopes,  are  strug- 
gling within  him.  He  heads  a  short  procession  over  these  then  naked 
fields ;  he  crosses  yonder  stream  on  a  fallen  tree ;  he  ascends  to  the 
top  of  this  eminence,  whose  original  oaks  of  the  forest  stand  as  thick 
around  him  as  if  the  spot  had  been  devoted  to  Druidical  worship,  and 
here  he  performs  the  appointed  duty  of  the  day.  ^ 
^  -Aad.-4iow,-  fellow-citizen&,..  if  this  vision  were  a  reality,  —  if  Wash- 
ington actually  were  now  amongst  us,  —  aa4  if  lie  could  draw  around 
him  the  shades  of  the  great  public  men^*yf  his  owii  days,  patriots  and 
■warriors,  orators  and  statesmen,  and  Vere  to  address  us  in  their 
presence,  would  he  not  say  to  us :  "  Ye  men  of  this  generation,  I 
rejoice  and  thank  Grod  for  being  able  to  see  that  our  labors,  and  toils, 
and  sacrifices,  were  not  in  vain.  You  are  prosperous,  you  are 
^apPJ'  are  grateful.  The  fire  of  liberty  burns  brightly  and 
steadily  in  your  hearts,  while  duty  and  the  law  restrain  it  from  burst- 
ing forth  in  wild  and  destructive  conflagration.  Cherish  liberty,  as 
you  love  it ;  cherish  its  securities,  as  you  wish  to  preserve  it.  Main- 
tain the  Constitution  which  we  labored  so  painfully  to  establish,  and 
which  has  been  to  yoii  such  a  source  of  inestimable  blessings.  Pre- 
serve the  Union  of  the  States,  cemented  as  it  was  by  our  prayers,  our 
tears  and  our  blood.  Be  true  to  Grod,  to  your  country,  and  to  your 
duty.  So  shall  the  whole  Eastern  world  follow  the  morning  sun,  to 
contemplate  you  as  a  nation ;  so  shall  all  generations  honor  you,  as 
they  honor  us ;  and  so  shall  that  Almighty  Power  which  so  graciously 
protected  us,  and  which  now  protects  you,  shower  its  everlasting  bless- 
ings upon  you  and  your  posterity !  " 

G-reat  father  of  your  country !  we  heed  your  words ;  we  feel  their 
force,  as  if  you  now  uttered  them  with  lips  of  flesh  and  blood.  Your 
example  teaches  us,  your  afiectionate  addresses  teach  us  ,  your  pub- 
He  life  teaches  us,  your  sense  of  the  value  of  the  blessings  of  the 
Union.  Those  blessings  our  fathers  have  tasted,  and  we  have  tasted, 
wad  still  taste.  Nor  do  we  intend  that  those  who  come  after  us  shaj 
oe  denied  the  same  high  fruition.  Our  honor,  as  well  as  our  happi 
less,  is  concerned.  We  cannot,  we  dare  not,  we  will  not,  l)etraj  our 
sacred  trust.  We  will  not  filch  from  posterity  the  treasure  placed  in 
our  hands  to  be  trammitted  to  other  generations.    The  bow  that  gilds 


394 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


ihe  ciciuds  m  the  Heavens,  the  pillars  that  upLold  the  firmament, 
may  disappear  and  fall  away  in  the  hour  appointed  by  the  will  of 
God ;  but,  until  that  day  comes,  or  so  long  as  our  lives  may  last,  qo 
ruthless  hand  shall  undermine  that  bright  arch  of  Union  and  Liberty 
which  spans  the  continent  from  Washington  to  California ! 


23.   THE  POWER  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION,  1852.  —  fFebster 

We  are  too  much  inclined  to  underrate  the  power  of  moral  inflii^ 
ence,  and  the  influence  of  public  opinion,  and  the  influence  of  princi- 
ples to  which  great  men,  the  lights  of  the  world  and  of  the  age,  nave 
given  their  sanction.  Who  doubts  that,  in  our  own  struggle  for 
Uberty  and  independence,  the  majestic  eloquence  of  Chatham,  the 
profound  reasoning  of  Burke,  the  burning  satire  and  irony  of  Col. 
Barre,  had  influences  upon  our  fortunes  here  in  America  ?  They  had 
influences  both  ways.  They  tended,  in  the  first  place,  somewhat  io 
diminish  the  confidence  of  the  British  Ministry  in  their  hopes  of 
success,  in  attempting  to  subjugate  an  injured  People.  They  had 
influence  another  way,  because,  all  along  the  coasts  of  the  country,— 
and  all  our  people  in  that  day  lived  upon  the  coast,—  there  was 
not  a  reading  man  who  did  not  feel  stronger,  bolder,  and  more  deter- 
mined in  the  assertion  of  his  rights,  when  these  exhilarating  accounts 
from  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament  reached  him  from  beyond  the 
seas.  He  felt  that  those  who  held  and  controlled  public  opinion  else- 
where were  with  us ;  that  their  words  of  eloquence  might  produce  an 
3fi"ect  in  the  region  where  they  were  uttered  ;  and,  above  all,  they 
assured  them  that,  in  the  judgment  of  the  just,  and  the  wise,  and  the 
impartial,  their  cause  was  just,  and  they  were  right ;  and  therefore 
they  said.  We  will  fight  it  out  to  the  last. 

Now,  Gentlemen,  another  great  mistake  is  sometimes  made.  We 
think  that  nothing  is  powerful  enough  to  stand  before  autocratic, 
monarchical,  or  despotic  power.  There  is  something  strong  enough, 
quite  strong  enough,  —  and,  if  properly  exerted,  will  prove  itself  so,  — 
and  that  is  the  power  of  intelligent  public  opinion  in  all  the  Nations  ot 
the  earth.  There  is  not  a  monarch  on  earth  whose  throne  is  iiot 
liable  to  be  shaken  by  the  progress  of  opinion,  and  the  sentiment  of 
the  just  and  intelligent"  part  of  the  People.  It  becomes  us,  in  the 
station  which  we  hold,  to  let  that  public  opinion,  so  far  as  we  form  it, 
have  a  free  course.  Let  it  go  out ;  let  it  be  pronounced  in  thunder 
tones ;  let  it  open  the  ears  of  the  deaf ;  let  it  open  the  eyes  of  the 
blind;  and  let  it  everywhere  be  proclaimed  what  we  of  this  great 
Republic  think  of  the  general  principle  of  human  liberty,  and  of  that 
oppression  which  all  abhor.  Depend  upon  it.  Gentlemen,  that  between 
these  two  rival  powers  —  the  autocratic  power,  maintained  by  arms  and 
tbrce,  and  the  popular  power,  maintained  by  opinion,  —  the  former  is 
cjonstantly  decreasing,  and,  thank  God,  the  latter  is  constantly  increas- 
ing! Ileal  human  liberty  and  human  rights  are  gaining  the  ascend- 
-  %nt,  and  the  part  which  we  have  to  act,  in  al  this  great  drama,  w  t« 


JPOIilTICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.-  KING. 


thow  ourselves  in  favor  of  those  rights,  to  uphold  cur  asceaaency,  and 
£0  carry  it  on  until  we  shall  see  it  culminate  in  the  highest  Heavei: 
over  our  heads. 


24.   THE  FUTURE  OP  THE  UNITED  STATES.  —  Prcsi'den/  Kin^ 

I  HAVE  faith  in  the  future,  because  I  have  confidence  in  the  present. 
With  our  growth  in  wealth  and  in  power,  I  see  no  abatement  in  those 
qualities,  moral  and  physical,  to  which  so  much  of  our  success  is  owing ; 
and,  while  thus  true  to  ourselves,  true  to  the  instincts  of  freedom,  and 
to^  those  other  instincts  which,  with  our  race,  seem  to  go  hand  in  hand 
with  Freedom,  —  love  of  order  and  respect  for  law  {as  law,  and  not 
because  it  is  upheld  by  force),  —  we  must  continue  to  prosper. 

The  sun  shines  not  upon,  has  never  shone  upon,  a  land  where 
human  happiness  is  so  widely  disseminated,  where  human  government 
is  so  little  abused,  so  free  from  oppression,  so  invisible,  intangible,  and 
yet  so  strong.  Nowhere  else  do  the  institutions  which  constitute  a 
State  rest  upon  so  broad  a  base  as  here ;  and  nowhere  are  men  so 
powerless,  and  institutions  so  strong.  In  the  wilderness  of  free  minds, 
dissensions  will  occur;  and,  in  the  unlimited  discussion  in  writing  and 
in  speech,  in  town-meetings,  newspapers,  and  legislative  bodies,  angry 
and  menacing  language  will  be  used ;  irritations  will  arise  and  be 
aggravated ;  and  those  immediately  concerned  in  the  strife,  or  breath- 
ing its  atmosphere,  may  fear,  or  feign  to  fear,  that  danger  is  in  such  ' 
hot  breath  and  passionate  resolves.  But  outside,  and  above,  and  beyond 
all  this,  is  the  People,  —  steady,  industrious,  self-possessed,  —  caring 
little  for  abstractions,  and  less  for  abstractionists,  but,  with  one  deep, 
common  sentiment,  and  with  the  consciousness,  calm,  but  quite  sure 
and  earnest,  that,  in  the  Constitution  and  the  Union,  as  they  received 
them  from  their  fathers,  and  as  they  themselves  have  observed  and 
maintained  them,  is  the  sheet-anchor  of  their  hope,  the  pledge  of  their 
prosperity,  the  palladium  of  their  liberty ;  and  with  this,  is  that  other 
consciousness,  not  less  calm  and  not  less  earnest,  that,  in  their  own 
keeping  exclusively,  and  not  in  that  of  any  party  leaders  or  party 
demagogues,  or  poKtical  hacks,  or  speculators,  is  the  integrity  of  that 
Union  and  that  Constitution.  It  is  in  the  strong  arms  and  honest 
hearts  of  the  great  masses,  who  are  not  members  of  Congress,  nor 
holders^of  office,  nor  spouters  at  town-meetings,  that  resides  the  safety 
of  the  Stat^ ;  and  these  masses,  though  slow  to  move,  are  irresistibJa 
when  the  time  and  the  occasion  for  moving  come. 

I  have  faith,  therefore,  in  the  Future ;  and  when,  at  the  close  of 
this  half-century,  which  so  comparatively  few  of  us  are  to  see,  the 
account  shall  again  be  taken,  and  the  question  be  asked,  What  has 
Nevf  York  done  since  1850  ?  I  have  faith  that  the  answer  will  be 
given  in  a  City  still  advancing  in  population,  wealth,  morals,  and 
knowledge,  --  in  a  City  free,  and  deserving,  by  her  virtues,  her  benev- 
alent  institutions,  her  schools,  her  courts  and  her  temples,  to  continue 
free,  and  still  part  and  parcel  of  this  great  and  glorious  Union,  — 
wnich  mav  God  preserve  till  Time  shall  be  no  more : 


396 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


25    mPORTANLTE  OF  THE  AGRICULTURAL  INTEREST.  —  Ca/el  Cuakina 

These  United  States  are,  as  a  whole,  and  always  have  been,  chiefly 
dependent,  for  their  wealth  and  power,  on  the  natural  productions  of 
the  earth.  It  is  the  spontaneous  products  of  our  forests,  our  mines, 
and  our  seas,  and  the  cultivated  products  of  our  soil,  which  have  made, 
aud  continue  to  make,  us  what  we  are.  Manufacture  can  but  modify 
these,  commerce  only  distribute  or  accumulate  them,  and  exchange 
them  for  others,  to  gratify  taste,  or  promote  convenience.  Land  ia 
the  footstool  of  our  power  ;  land  is  the  throne  of  our  empire. 

Generation  after  generation  may  give  themselves  up  to  slaughter, 
in  civil  or  foreign  war ;  dynasty  follow  dynasty,  each  with  new  vari- 
eties of  oppression  or  misrule  ;  the  fratricidal  rage  of  domestic  factions 
rend  the  entrails  of  their  common  country  ;  temples,  and  basilica,  aod 
Capitols,  crumble  to  dust ;  proud  navies  melt  into  the  yeast  of  the 
sea ;  and  all  that  Art  fitfully  does  to  perpetuate  itself  disappear  like 
the  phantasm  of  a  troubled  dream  ;  — but  Nature  is  everlasting  ;  and, 
above  the  wreck  and  uproar  of  our  vain  devices  and  childish  tumults, 
the  tutelary  stars  continue  to  sparkle  on  us  from  their  distant  spheres ; 
the  sun  to  pour  out  his  vivifying  rays  of  light  and  heat  over  the  earth , 
the  elements  to  dissolve,  in  grateful  rain ;  the  majestic  river  to  roll  on 
his  fertilizing  waters  unceasingly ;  and  the  ungrudging  soil  to  yield 
up  the  plenteousness  of  its  harvest,  year  after  year,  to  the  hand  of  the 
husbandman.  He,  the  husbandman,  is  the  servant  of  those  divine 
elements  of  earth  and  air ;  he  is  the  minister  of  that  gracious,  that 
benign,  that  bounteous,  that  fostering,  that  nourishing,  that  renovat- 
mg,  that  inexhaustible,  that  adorable  Nature ;  and,  as  such,  the  stew- 
ardship of  our  nationality  is  in  him. 


26.    EUROPEAN  STRUGGLES  FOR  FREEDOM,  184S.—Reverdy  Johnson. 

Amidst  the  agitating  throes  of  the  Old  World,  —  amidst  the  fall 
of  Thrones,  the  prostration  of  Dynasties,  the  flight  of  Kings, — 
what  American,  native  or  naturalized,  lives,  who  does  not  admire  and 
love  his  Government,  and  is  not  prepared  to  die  in  its  defence  ?  Our 
power,  and  our  unexampled  private  and  public  prosperity,  are  to  be 
referred  altogether  to  our  Constitutional  liberty.  Can  it  be  wondered 
at,  that,  with  such  an  example  before  them,  the  Nations  of  Europe 
should  be  striking  for  freedom  ?  Sooner  or  later,  the  blow  was  iney- 
itable.  Absolute  individual  liberty,  secured  by  the  power  of  all ;  pri- 
vate  rights  of  person  and  property  held  sacred,  and  maintained  by  the 
will  and  power  of  all ;  perfect  equality  of  all ;  absence  of  degrading 
inferiority  ;  each  standing  on  a  common  platform  ;  no  selected  Lords 
nor  Sovereigns,  by  election  or  by  birth,  but  every  honest  man  a  Lord 
and  a  Sovereign,  —  constitutes  a  proud  and  glorious  contrast,  challeng- 
ing, and,  sooner  or  later,  certain  to  obtain,  the  applause,  admiration, 
uiid  adoption  of  the  world. 

Appauntly  sudden  and  unexpected  as  have  been  these  great  popu- 
lar struggles,  with  which  we  are  sympathizing,  they  were  as  certain 


POLITICAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.  OHOATE. 


397 


fed  occur  as  tlio  revolution  of  the  seasons.  To  be  free,  man  needs  only 
to  know  the  value  of  freedom.  To  cast  off  the  shackles  of  tyranny, 
kc  needs  only  to  know  his  power.  The  result  is  inevitable.  But  the 
People  of  the  Old  World  must  also  learn  that  liberty,  unrestrained,  if» 
dangerous  licentiousness.  Of  all  conditions  in  which  man  may  be 
placed,  anarchy  is  the  most  direful.  All  history  teaches  that  tha 
tyranny  of  the  many  is  mors  fatal  than  the  tyranny  of  the  few.  The 
liberty  suited  to  man's  nature  is  liberty  restrained  by  law.  This,, 
too,  they  may  learn  from  our  example.  In  sending,  then,  our  sincere 
congratulations  to  the  People  of  the  Continent,  we  should  advise  them 
against  every  popular  excess.  In  a  fraternal  spirit,  we  should  invoke 
them  to  a  reign  of  order,  of  their  own  creation,  —  a  reign  of  just  law, 
of  their  own  enactment,  —  a  reign  of  Constitutional  freedom,  of  their 
own  granting.  Then  will  their  liberty  be  as  our  own,  fall  and  perfect, 
securing  all  the  blessings  of  human  life,  and  giving  to  every  People 
everything  of  power  and  true  glory  which  should  belong  to  a  civilized 
and  Christian  Nation. 


27.  THE  BIRTH-DAY  OF  WASHINGTON.— /Zm/ms  Choate. 

The  birth-day  of  the  "  Father  of  his  Country  "  !  May  it  ever  be 
freshly  remembered  by  American  hearts !  May  it  ever  reawaken  in 
them  a  filial  veneration  for  his  memory ;  ever  rekindle  the  fires  of 
patriotic  regard  to  the  country  which  he  loved  so  well ;  to  which  he 
gave  his  youthful  vigor  and  his  youthful  energy,  during  the  perilous 
period  of  the  early  Indian  warfare ;  to  which  he  devoted  his  life,  in 
the  maturity  of'  his  powers,  in  the  field ;  to  which  again  he  offered  the 
counsels  of  his  wisdom  and  his  experience,  as  President  of  the  Con- 
vention that  framed  our  Constitution ;  which  he  guided  and  directed 
while  in  the  Chair  of  State,  and  for  which  the  last  prayer  of  his 
earthly  supplication  was  offered  up,  when  it  came  the  moment  for  him 
so  well,  and^so  grandly,  and  so  calmly,  to  die.  He  was  the  first  man 
of  the  time  in  which  he  grew.  His  memory  is  first  and  most  sacred 
in  our  love ;  and  ever  hereafter,  till  the  last  drop  of  blood  shall  freeze 
in  the  last  American  heart,  his  name  shall  be  a  spell  of  power  and 
might. 

Yes,  G-entlemen,  there  is  one  personal,  one  vast  felicity,  which  no  man 
can  share  with  him.  It  was  the  daily  beauty  and  towering  and 
matchless  glory  of  his  life,  which  enabled  him  to  create  his  country, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  secure  an  undying  love  and  regard  from  the 
whole  American  people.  "The  fii-st  in  the  hearts  of  his  country- 
men ! "  Yes,  first !  He  has  our  first  and  most  fervent  love.  Un- 
doubtedly there  were  brave  and  wise  and  good  men,  before  his  day,  in 
every  colony.  But  the  American  Nation,  as  a  Nation,  I  do  not  reckon 
to  have  begun  before  1774.  And  the  first  love  of  that  young  America 
was  Washington.  The  first  word  she  lisped  was  his  name.  Her 
'  earliest  breath  spoke  it  It  still  is  her  proud  ejaculation ;  ond  it  wU? 
be  fche  last  gasp  of  her  ttxpiriug  life; 


598 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Yes!  Others  of  our  great  men  have  been  appreciated,  —  manj 
admired  by  all.  But  him  we  love.  Him  we  all  love.  About  and 
around  him  we  call  up  no  dissentient  and  discordant-  und  dissatisfied 
elements,  —  no  sectional  prejudice  nor  bias,  —  no  party,  no  creed, 
no  dogma  of  politics.  None  of  these  shall  assail  him.  Yes.  When 
the  stoFm  of  battle  blows  darkest  and  rages  highest,  the  memory  of 
Washington  shall  nerve  every  American  arm,  and  cheer  every  Amer- 
ican heart.  It  shall  relume  that  Promethean  fire,  thai  sublime 
flame  of  patriotism,  that  devoted  love  of  country,  which  his  words 
have  commended,  which  his  example  has  consecrated, 

*•  Where  may  the  wearied  eye  repose. 

When  gazing  on  the  great. 
Where  neither  guilty  glory  glows. 

Nor  despicable  state  1  — 
Yes  —  one  —  the  first,  the  last,  the  best. 
The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West, 

Whom  Envy  dared  not  hate. 
Bequeathed  the  name  of  Washington, 
To  make  man  blush,  there  was  but  one."* 


28.  THE  PROSPECTS  OP  CALIFORNIA,  Nov.  2,  1S50.  —  Nathaniel  Bennett. 

Judging  from  the  past,  what  have  we  not  a  right  to  expect  in  the 
future.  The  world  has  never  witnessed  anything  equal  or  similar  to 
our  career  hitherto.  Scarcely  two  years  ago,  California  was  almost 
an  unoccupied  wild.  With  the  exception  of  a  presidio,  a  mission,  a 
pueblo,  or  a  lonely  ranch,  scattered  here  and  there,  at  tiresome  dis- 
tances, there  was  nothing  to  show  that  the  uniform  stillness  had  ever 
been  broken  by  the  footsteps  of  civilized  man.  The  agricultural  rich- 
ness of  her  valleys  remained  unimproved ;  and  the  wealth  of  a  world 
lay  entombed  in  the  bosom  of  her  solitary  mountains,  and  on  the 
banks  of  her  unexplored  streams.  Behold  the  contrast !  The  hand 
of  agriculture  is  now  busy  in  every  fertile  valley,  and  its  toils  are 
remunerated  with  rewards  which  in  no  other  portion  of  the  world  can 
be  credited.  Enterprise  has  pierced  every  hill,  for  hidden  treasure, 
and  has  heaped  up  enormous  gains.  Cities  and  villages  dot  the  sur- 
face of  the  whole  State.  Steamers  dart  along  our  rivers,  and  innu- 
merable vessels  spread  their  white  wings  over  our  bays.  Not  Con- 
stantinople, upon  which  the  wealth  of  imperial  Rome  was  lavished, 
—not  St.  Petersburg,  to  found  which  the  arbitrary  Czar  sacrificed 
thousands  of  his  subjects,  — would  rival,  in  rapidity  of  growth,  the  fair 
zity  which  lies  before  me.  Our  State  is  a  marvel  to  ourselves,  and  a 
miracle  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  Nor  is  the  influence  of  California 
eonfin'id  within  her  own  borders.  Mexico,  and  the  islands  nestled  in 
ihe  embrace  of  the  Pacific,  have  felt  the  quickening  breath  of  hei 
:jnterprise.  With  her  golden  wand,  she  has  touched  the  prostrate 
wrpse  of  South  American  industry,  and  it  has  sprung  up  in  the  fresh- 
im6  of  life.    She  has  caused  the  hum  of  busy  life  to  be  heard  in  Hm 

*  Lord  Byron. 


fULITICAI  AND  OCCASIONAL.   WEBSim. 


899 


wiliiernetis  ^vliere  rolls  the  Oregon,''  and  but  recently  heard  no 
sc«nd,  "  save  his  own  dashings."  Even  the  wall  of  Chinese  exclu- 
riveness  has  been  broken  down,  and  the  Children  of  the  Sun  have 
come  forth  to  view  the  splendor  of  her  achievements. 

But,  flatterinp^  as  has  been  the  past,  satisfactory  as  is  the  present,  it 
is  but  a  foretaste  of  the  future.  It  is  a  trite  saying,  that  we  live  in 
an  age  of  great  events.  Nothing  can  be  more  true.  But  the  greatest 
of  all  events  of  the  present  age  is  at  hand.  It  needs  not  the  gift  of 
prophecy  to  predict,  that  the  course  of  the  world's  trade  is  destined 
soon  to  be  changed.  But  a  few  years  can  elapse  before  the  commerce 
of  Asia  and  the  Islands  of  the  Pacific,  instead  of  pursuing  the  ocean 
track,  by  way  of  Cape  Horn  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  even 
taking  the  shorter  route  of  the  Isthmus  of  Darien  or  the  Isthmus  of 
Tehuantepec,  will  enter  the  Golden  Gate  of  California,  and  deposit  its 
riches  in  the  lap  of  our  own  city.  Hence,  on  bars  of  iron,  and  pro- 
pelled by  steam,  it  will  ascend  the  mountains  and  traverse  the  desert ; 
and,  having  again  reached  the  confines  of  civilization,  will  be  distrib- 
uted, through  a  thousand  channels,  to  every  portion  of  the  Union  and 
of  Europe.  New  York  will  then  become  what  London  now  is,  the 
great  central  point  of  exchange,  the  heart  of  trade,  the  force  of 
whose  contraction  and  expansion  will  be  felt  throughout  every  artery 
of  the  commercial  world ;  and  San  Francisco  will  then  stand  the 
second  city  ^of  America.  Is  this  visionary  ?  Twenty  years  will 
determine. 

The  world  is  interested  in  our  success ;  for  a  fresh  field  is  opened  to 
its  commerce,  and  a  new  avenue  to  the  civilization  and  progress  of  the 
human  race.  Let  us,  then,  endeavor  to  realize  the  hopes  of  Ameri- 
cans, and  the  expectations  of  the  world.  Let  us  not  only  be  united 
amongst  ourselves,  for  our  own  local  welfare,  but  let  us  strive  to 
3ement  the  common  bonds  of  brotherhood  of  the  whole  Union.  In 
our  relations  to  the  Federal  Government,  let  us  know  no  South,  no 
North,  no  East,  no  West.  Wherever  American  liberty  flourishes,  let 
that  be  our  common  country  '  Wherever  the  American  banner  waves, 
let  that  be  our  home ' 


29.  THE  STAND AF.D  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION,  Feft.  1852.  —  l^^'eftsier 

If  classical  history  has  been  found  to  be,  is  now,  and  shall  continue 
to  be,  the  concomi<-ait  of  free  institutions,  and  of  popular  eloquence, 
what  a  field  is  oppning  to  us  for  another  Herodotus,  another  Thucyd- 
ides  (only  may  his  theme  not  be  a  Peloponnesian  war),  and  another 
Livy !  And,  let  me  say,  Gentlemen,  that  if  we,  and  our  posterity 
shall  be  true  to  the  Christian  religion,  —  if  we  and  they  shall  live 
always  m  the  fear  of  God,  and  shall  respect  His  commandments,  —  if 
we  and  they  shall  maintain  just  moral  sentiments  and  such  conscien. 
tious  convictions  of  duty  as  shall  control  the  heart  and  life,  —  we 
may  have  the  highest  hopes  of  the  future  fortunes  of  our  country. 
And,  if  we  maintain  those  institutions  of  government,  and  that  politi* 
id  Union,  —  exceeding  all  praise  as  much  as  it  eyceods  all  f  jrmei 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


examplefi  of  political  associations,  —  we  may  be  sure  of  one  thing 
that  while  our  country  furnishes  materials  for  a  thousand  masters  oi 
the  historic  art,  it  will  afford  no  topic  for  a  Gibbon.  It  will  have  m 
Decline  and  Fall.  It  will  go  on,  prospering  and  to  prosper,  l^ut,  if 
we  and  our  posterity  reject  religious  instruction  and  authority,  violate 
the  rules  of  eternal  justice,  trifle  with  the  injunctions  of  morality,  and 
recklessly  destroy  the  political  Constitution  which  holds  us  together, 
no  man  can  tell  how  suddenly  a  catastrophe  may  overwhelm  us  that 
shall  bury  all  our  glory  in  profound  obscurity.  If  that  catastrophe 
shall  happen,  let  it  have  no  history !  Let  the  horrible  narrative  never 
be  written ;  let  its  fate  be  like  that  of  the  lost  books  of  Livy,  which 
no  human  eye  shall  ever  read,  or  the  missing  Pleiad,  of  which  no  man 
ean  ever  know  more  than  that  it  is  lost,  and  lost  forever. 

Bat,  G-entiemen,  I  will  not  take  my  leave  of  you  in  a  tone  of  de- 
spondency. We  may  trust  that  Heaven  will  not  forsake  us,  so  long  as 
we  do  not  forsake  ourselves.  Are  we  of  this  generation  so  derelict ^ — 
have  we  so  little  of  the  blood  of  our  Revolutionary  fathers  coursing 
through  our  veins  —  that  we  cannot  preserve  what  our  ancestors 
achieved  ?  The  world  will  cry  out  "  Shame  "  upon  us,  if  we  show 
ourselves  unworthy  to  be  the  descendants  of  those  great  and  illus- 
trious men  who  fought  for  their  liberty,  and  secured  it  to  their  pos- 
terity by  the  Constitution. 

The  Constitution  has  enemies,  secret  and  professed ;  but  they  cannot 
iisguise  the  fact  that  it  secures  us  many  benefits.  These  enemies  are 
iinUke  in  character,  but  they  all  have  some  fault  to  find.  Some  of 
them  are  enthusiasts,  hot-headed,  self-sufficient  and  headstrong.  Tht^y 
fancy  that  they  can  make  out  for  themselves  a  better  path  than  that 
laid  down  for  them.  Phaeton,  the  son  of  Apollo,  thought  he  could 
find  a  better  course  across  the  Heavens  for  the  sun. 

"  Thus  Phaeton  once,  amidst  the  ethereal  plains, 
Leaped  on  his  father's  car,  and  seized  the  reins; 
Far  from  his  course  impelled  the  glowing  sua, 
'Till  Nature's  laws  to  wild  disorder  run." 

Other  enemies  there  are,  more  cool,  and  with  more  calculation 
These  have  a  deeper  and  more  traitorous  purpose.  They  have  spoken 
of  forcible  resistance  to  the  provisions  of  the  Constitution ;  they  now 
speak  of  Secession  !  Let  me  say.  Gentlemen,  secession  from  us  is 
accession  elsewhere.  He  who  renounces  the  protection  of  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  shelters  himself  under  the  shadow  of  another  flag,  you 
may  rest  assured  of  that.  Now,  to  counteract  the  ,elforts  of  these 
malecontents,  the  friends  of  the  Constitution  must  rally.  ALL  its 
friends,  of  whatever  section,  whatever  their  sectional  opinions  may  be, 
must  unite  for  its  preservation.  To  that  standard  we  must  adhere, 
and  uphold  it  through  eyil  report  and  good  report.  We  will  sustain 
it,  and  meet  death  itself,  if  it  come ;  we  will  ever  encounter  and  defeat 
error,  by  day  and  by  night,  in  light  or  in  darkness  —  thick  darkne?^,- 
»f  it  come,  till 

«'  Danger's  troubled  night  is  o'er, 
And  the  star  oi  Peaoo  returu." 


PART 


SIXTH. 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL 


1.  THE  CEUCIFIXION.— TZeu  George  Crol». 

City  of  God !  Jerusalem, 
Why  rushes  out  thy  living  stream  ? 
The  turbaned  priest,  the  hoary  seer, 
The  Eoman  in  his  pride,  are  there ! 
And  thousands,  tens  of  thousands,  still 
Cluster  round  Calvary's  wild  hill. 

Still  onward  rolls  the  living  tide  ; 

There  rush  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 

Prince,  beggar,  soldier,  Pharisee,  — 

The  old,  the  young,  the  bond,  the  free , 

The  nation's  llirious  multitude. 

All  maddening  with  the  cry  of  blood. 

T  is  glorious  morn ;  from  height  to  heigM 
Shoot  the  keen  arrows  of  the  light; 
And  glorious,  in  their  central  shower. 
Palace  of  holincjss  and  power, 
The  temple  on  Moriah's  brow 
Looks  a  new-risen  sun  below. 

But  woe  to  hill,  and  woe  to  vale  ! 
Against  them  shall  come  forth  a  wail ; 
And  woe  to  bridegroom  and  to  bride ! 
For  death  shall  on  the  whirlwind  ride ; 
And  woe  to  thee,  resplendent  shrine,  — • 
The  sword  is  out  for  thee  and  thine ! 

Hide,  hide  thee  in  the  Heavens,  thou  sua, 
Before  the  deed  of  blood  is  done ! 
Upon  that  temple's  haughty  steep 
,  J erusalem's  last  angels  weep ; 
They  see  destruction's  funeral  pall 
Blackening  o'er  Sion's  sacred  wall. 

Still  pours  along  the  multitude,  — 
Still  rends  the  Heavens  the  shout  of  blood  S 
But.  in  the  murderer's  furious  vaQ* 
Who  totters  on  '    A  weary  uuu ; 
26 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

A  CI  Dss  upon  his  shoulder  bound,  — 
£[is  brow,  his  frame,  one  gushing  wouad. 

And  now  he  treads  on  Calvary  — 
What  slave  upon  that  hill  must  die  ? 
What  hand,  what  heart,  in  guilt  imbrued, 
Must  be  the  mountain  vulture's  food  ? 
There  stand  two  victims  gaunt  and  bare, 
Two  culprits,  emblems  of  despair. 

Yet  who  the  third  ?    The  yell  of  shame 

Is  frenzied  at  the  sufferer's  name. 

Hands  clenched,  teeth  gnashing,  vestures  torn. 

The  curse,  the  taunt,  the  laugh  of  scorn. 

All  that  the  dying  hour  can  sting. 

Are  round  thee  now,  thou  thorn-crowiied  king  F 

Yet,  cursed  and  tortured,  taunted,  spurned, 
N«  wrath  is  for  the  wrath  returned ; 
No  vengeance  flashes  from  the  eye ; 
The  Sufferer  calmly  waits  to  die ; 
The  sceptre-reed,  the  thorny  crown, 
Wake  on  that  pallid  brow  no  frown. 

At  last  the  word  of  death  is  given. 
The  form  is  bound,  the  nails  are  driven : 
Now  triumph,  Scribe  and  Pharisee  ! 
Now,  Roman,  bend  the  mocking  knee ! 
The  cross  is  reared.    The  deed  is  done. 
There  stands  Messiah's  Ci^rthly  throne ! 

This  was  the  earth's  consummate  hour  ; 
For  this  hath  blazed  the  prophet's  power ; 
For  this  hath  swept  the  conqueror's  sword ; 
Hath  ravaged,  raised,  cast  down,  restored 
Persepolis,  Rome,  Babylon, 
For  this  ye  sank,  for  this  ye  shone ! 

Yet  things  to  which  earth's  brightest  beaiss 
Were  darkness  —  earth  itself  a  dream. 
Foreheads  on  which  shall  crowns  be  laid 
Sublime,  when  sun  and  star  shall  fade  • 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  eternal  things 
Hung  on  thy  anguish,  King  of  Kings ! 

Still  from  his  lip  no  curse  has  come, 
His  lofty  eye  has  looked  no  doom ! 
No  earthquake  burst,  no  angel  brand, 
Crashes  the  black,  blaspheming  band  : 
What  say  those  lips,  by  anguish  riven? 
"  God,  be  my  murderers  forgiven !  " 


AARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  — 


JROLr. 


a.    THE  SEVENTH  PLAGUE  OF  EGYPT.  —Rev.  George  Cr»lt 

T  WAS  morn,  —  the  rising  splendor  rolled 

On  marble  towers  and  roofs  of  gold : 

Hall,  court  and  gallery,  below. 

Were  crowded  with  a  living  flow ; 

Egyptian,  Arab,  Nubian  there, 

The  bearers  of  the  bow  and  spear , 

The  hoary  priest,  the  Chaldee  sage, 

The  slave,  the  gemmed  and  glittering  page 

Helm,  turban  and  tiara,  shone, 

A  dazzling  ring,  round  Pharaoh's  Throne. 

There  came  a  man,  —  the  human  tide 
Shrank  backward  from  his  stately  stride : 
His  cheek  with  storm  and  time  was  tanned ; 
A  shepherd's  stafi"  was  in  his  hand. 
A  shudder  of  instinctive  fear 
Told  the  dark  King  what  step  was  near ; 
On  through  the  host  the  stranger  came," 
It  parted  round  his  form  like  flame. 

He  stooped  not  at  the  footstool  stone, 

He  clasped  not  sandal,  kissed  not  Throne ; 

Erect  he  stood  amid  the  ring, 

His  only  words,  —  "  Be  just,  0  king !  " 

On  Pharaoh's  cheek  the  blood  flushed  high, 

A  fire  was  in  his  sullen  eye ; 

Yet  on  the  Chief  of  Israel 

No  arrow  of  his  thousands  fell : 

All  mute  and  moveless  as  the  grave, 

Stood  chilled  the  satrap  and  the  slave. 

"  Thou  'rt  come,"  at  length  the  Monarch  spoM  | 

Haughty  and  high  the  words  outbroke : 

"  Is  Israel  weary  of  its  lair. 

The  forehead  peeled,  the  shoulder  bare  ? 

Take  back  the  answer  to  your  band ; 

Go,  reap  the  wind ;  go,  plough  the  sand 

Go,  vilest  of  the  living  vile, 

To  build  the  never-ending  pile, 

Till,  darkest  of  the  nameless  dead, 

The  vulture  on  their  flesh  is  fed ! 

VFuat  better  asks  the  howling  slave 

Than  the  base  life  our  bounty  gave?" 

Shouted  in  pride  the  turbaned  peers, 
Upclashed  to  Heaven  the  golden  spears. 
"  King  !  thou  and  thine  are  doomed  !  —  Behokl 
The  prophet  spoke,  —  the  thunder  rolled ! 


THE  STANDARD  SPJuAKEB. 


Along  tlie  pathway  of  the  sun 
Sailed  vapory  mountains,  wild  and  dun. 
"  Yet  there  is  time,"  the  prophet  said,  — 
He  raised  his  staff,  —  the  storm  was  stayed 
"  King !  be  the  word  of  freedom  given ; 
What  art  thou,  man,  to  war  with  Heaven  ?  ' 

There  came  no  word.  —  The  thunder  broke 
Like  a  huge  city's  final  smoke, 
Thick,  lurid,  stifling,  mixed  with  flame 
Through  court  and  hall  the  vapors  came. 
Loose  as  the  stubble  in  the  field, 
Wide  flew  the  men  of  spear  and  shield : 
Scattered  like  foam  along  the  wave, 
Flew  the  proud  pageant,  prince  and  slave ; 
Or,  in  the  chains  of  terror  bound. 
Lay,  corpse-like,  on  the  smouldering  ground- 
"  Speak,  King !  —  the  wrath  is  but  begun,  — 
Still  dumb  ?  —  Then,  Heaven,  thy  will  be  doBi 

Echoed  from  earth  a  hollow  roar, 

Like  ocean  on  the  midnight  shore ; 

A  sheet  of  lightning  o'er  them  wheeled, 

The  solid  ground  beneath  them  reeled ; 

In  dust  sank  roof  and  battlement ; 

Like  webs  the  giant  walls  were  rent ; 

Red,  broad,  before  his  startled  gaze, 

The  Monarch  saw  his  Egypt  blaze. 

Still  swelled  the  plague,  —  the  flame  grew  pali 

Burst  from  the  clouds  the  charge  of  hail ; 

With  arrowy  keenness,  iron  weight, 

Down  poured  the  ministers  of  fate ; 

Till  man  and  cattle,  crushed,  congealed, 

Covered  with  death  the  boundless  field. 

Still  swelled  the  plague,  —  uprose  the  blast, 
The  avenger,  fit  to  be  the  last ; 
On  ocean,  river,  forest,  vale, 
Thundered  at  once  the  mighty  gale. 
Before  the  whirlwind  flew  the  tree. 
Beneath  the  whirlwind  roared  the  sea ; 
A  thousand  ships  were  on  the  wave,  — 
Where  are  they  ?  —  ask  that  foaming  grav©  ? 
Down  go  the  hope,  the  pride  of  years : 
Down  go  the  myriad  mariners  ; 
The  riches  of  Earth's  rii^hest  zone. 
Gone !  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  gone  I 

And,  lo !  that  first  fierce  triumph  o'er, 
Swells  Ocean  on  the  shrinking  shore  * 


KA»RATIVE  ANB  lyrical.  —  DELAVIGNE. 


40o 


Still  onward,  onward,  dark  and  wide, 
Engulfs  the  land  the  furious  tide. 
Then  bowed  thy  spirit,  stubborn  King, 
Tkou  serpent,  reft  of  fang  and  sting ; 
Humbled  before  the  prophet's  knee, 
He  groaned,  "  Be  injured  Israel  free  !  " 

To  Heaven  the  sage  upraised  his  wand : 
Back  rolled  the  deluge  from  the  land ; 
Back  to  its  caverns  sank  the  gale ; 
Fled  from  the  noon  the  vapors  pale ; 
Broad  burned  again  the  joyous  sun ;  — 
The  hour  of  wrath  and  death  was  done. 


J    THREE  DAIS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  COhmiBVS.  —  Original  adaptation  of  a  tramtm 
tion  from  Delavigne. 

On  the  deck  stood  Columbus ;  the  ocean's  expanse, 

Untried  and  unlimited,  swept  by  his  glance. 

"  Back  to  Spain  !  "  cry  his  men ;  "  Put  the  vessel  about ! 

We  venture  no  further  through  danger  and  doubt."  — 

"  Three  days,  and  I  give  you  a  world !  "  he  replied ; 

" Bear  up,  my  brave  comrades;  —  three  days  shall  decide." 

He  sails,  —  but  no  token  of  land  is  in  sight  ; 

He  sails,  —  but  the  day  shows  no  more  than  the  night ;  — 

On,  onward  he  sails,  Tfhile  in  vain  o'er  the  lee 

The  lead  is  plunged  down  through  a  fathomless  sea. 

Tlie  pilot,  in  silence,  leans  mournfully  o'er 

The  rudder  which  creaks  mid  the  billowy  roar ; 

He  hears  the  hoarse  moan  of  the  spray-driving  blast, 

And  its  funeral  wail  through  the  shrouds  of  the  mast. 

The  stars  of  far  Europe  have  sunk  from  the  skies. 

And  the  great  Southern  Gross  meets  his  terrified  eyes ; 

But,  at  length,  the  slow  dawn,  softly  streaking  the  night, 

Illumes  the  blue  vault  with  its  faint  crimson  light. 

"  Columbus  !  'tis  day,  and  the  darkness  is  o'er."  — 

"  Day !  and  what  dost  thou  see  ? "  —  "  Sky  and  ocean.  No  miw ! 

The  second  day 's  past,  and  Columbus  is  sleeping 

While  Mutiny  near  him  its  vigil  is  keeping : 

"  Shall  he  perish  ? "  _  "  Ay !  death !  "  is  the  barbarous  cry 

"  He  must  triumph  to-morrow,  or,  perjured,  must  die  1 " 

Ungrateful  and  blind !  —  shall  the  world-linking  sea. 

He  traced  for  the  Future,  his  sepulchre  be  ? 

Shall  that  sea,  on  the  morrow,  with  pitiless  waves, 

Fling  his  corse  on  that  shore  which  his  patient  eye  cravee  • 

The  corse  of  an  lu^mble  adventurer,  then  ; 

One  day  later,  —  -Qoxumbus,  the  first  among  men  ' 


406 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER- 


But,  hush  I  he  is  dreaming !  —  A  veil  on  the  main. 

At  the  distant  horizon,  is  parted  in  twain, 

And  now,  on  hi.^  dreaming  eye,  —  rapturous  sight !  — 

Fresh  bursts  the  New  World  from  the  darkness  of  nigt! 

0,  vision  of  glory !  how  dazzling  it  seems  ! 

How- glistens  the  verdure!  how  sparkle  the  streams! 

How  blue  the  far  mountains  !  how  glad  the  green  isles . 

And  the  earth  and  the  ocean,  how  dimpled  with  smiles 

*'  J^y  •  joy  '  "  cries  Columbus,  "  this  region  is  mine !  " » 

Ah  !  not  e'en  its  name,  wondrous  dreamer,  is  thine  ' 

But,  lo  !  his  dream  changes ;  —  a  vision  less  bright 

Comes  to  darken  and  banish  that  scene  of  delight. 

The  gold-seeking  Spaniards,  a  merciless  band. 

Assail  the  meek  natives,  and  ravage  the  land. 

He  sees  the  fair  palace,  the  temple  on  fire. 

And  the  peaceful  Cazique  'mid  their  ashes  expire ; 

He  sees,  too,  —  0,  saddest !  0,  mournfullest  sight ! 

The  crucifix  gleam  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

More  terrible  far  than  the  merciless  steel 

Is  the  up-lifted  cross  in  the  red  hand  of  Zeal ! 

Again  the  dream  changes.    Columbus  looks  forth, 
And  a  bright  constellation  beholds  in  the  North. 
"T  is  the  herald  of  empire !    A  People  appear, 
Impatient  of  wrong,  and  unconscious  of  fear ! 
They  level  the  forest,  —  they  ransack  the  seas,  — 
Each  zone  finds  their  canvas  unfurled  to  the  breeze. 

Hold  !  "  Tyranny  cries  ;  but  their  resolute  breath 
Sends  back  the  reply,  "  Independence  or  death  !  " 
The  ploughshare  they  turn  to  a  weapon  of  might, 
And,  defying  all  odds,  they  go  forth  to  the  fight. 

They  have  conquered !    The  People,  with  grateful  acclaiiR 

Look  to  Washington's  guidance,  from  Washington's  fame;  — 

Behold  Cincinnatus  and  Cato  combined 

In  his  patriot  heart  and  republican  mind. 

0,  type  of  true  manhood !    What  sceptre  or  crown 

But  fades  in  the  light  of  thy  simple  renown  ? 

And  lo !  by  the  side'  of  the  Hero,  a  Sage, 

In  Freedom's  behalf,  sets  his  mark  on  the  age ; 

Whom  Science  adoringly  hails,  while  he  wrings 

The  lightning  from  Heaven,  the  sceptre  from  kings ! 

At  length,  o'er  Columbus  slow  consciousness  breaks,  — 

"  Land !  land !  "  cry  the  sailors ;  "  land !  land !  "  —  he  awakes,  - 

He  runs,  —  yes  !  behold  it !  —  it  blcsseth  his  sight,  — 

The  land !    0,  dear  spectacle  !  transport !  delight ! 

0,  generous  sobs,  which  he  cannot  restrain ! 

What  will  Ferdinand  say  ?  and  the  Future  ?  and  Spaio  ? 


ISAEHATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  MILTON. 


He  will  lay  this  fair  land  at  the  foot  of  the  Throne, 
His  Bang  will  repay  all  the  ills  he  has  known,  — 
In  exchange  for  a  world  what  are  honors  and  gains  ? 
Or  a  crown  ?    But  how  is  he  rewarded  ?  —  with  chains ! 


4.    DESTRUCTION  OP  THE  PHILISTINES. —MiZJon. 

It  has  been  said  of  the  following  passage,  that  "the  poet  seems  to  exert  no  less  force  of 
m  aeacribing,  than  Samson  does  strength  of  body  in  executing." 

Occasions  drew  me  early  to  the  city  ; 

And,  as  the  gates  I  entered  with  sunrise, 

The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaimed 

Through  each  high  street ;  little  I  had  despatched, 

When  all  abroad  was  rumored  that  this  day 

Samson  sliould  be  brought  forth,  to  show  the  People 

Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games  • 

I  sorrowed  at  his  captive  state,  but  minded 

Not  to  be  absent  at  mat  spectacle. 

The  building  was  a  spacious  theatre 

Half  round,  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high. 

With  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 

Of  sort,  might  sit,  in  order  to  behold ; 

The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand ; 

I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 

Had  filled  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wiafi, 

When  to  their  sports  they  turned.  Immediately 

Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought. 

In  their  state  livery  clad ;  before  him  pipes. 

And  timbrels,  —  on  each  side  went  armed  guards, 

Both  horse  and  foot,  —  before  him  and  behind, 

Archers,  and  slingers,  cataphracts  *  and  spears. 

At  sight  of  him,  the  People  with  a  shout ' 

Rifted  the  air,  clamoring  their  god  with  praise. 

Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 

He,  patient,  but  undaunted,  where  they  led  him, 

Came  to  the  place ;  and  what  was  set  before  him, 

Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  essayed. 

To  heave,  pull,  draw  or  break,  he  still  performed 

All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force ; 

None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length,  for  intermission  sake,  they  led  him 

Between  the  pillars ;  he  his  guide  requested 

(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard), 

As  over-tired,  to  let  him  lean  a  while 

With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillar 


*  That  is.  men  and  horsM  in  amor 


TIE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


That  to  the  arshed  roof  gave  main  support. 

He,  unsuspioioua,  led  him  ;  'which  when  Samson 

Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  a  while  inclined, 

And  eyes  fast  fixed  he  stood,  as  one  who  prayed. 

Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved : 

At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud :  — 

"  Hitherto,  Lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 

I  have  performed,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 

Not  without  wonder  or  delight  beheld ; 

Now  of  my  own  accord  such  other  trial 

I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength,  yet  greater, 

As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

This  uttered,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bowed  : 

As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent, 

When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 

With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 

He  tugged,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 

The  whole  roof  after  them,  with  burst  of  thunder 

Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, 

Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counsellors,  or  priests, 

Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 

Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round, 

Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast. 

Samson,  with  these  immixed,  inevitably 

Pulled  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself ; 

The  vidgar  only  'scaped,  who  stood  without. 


6.    SATAN'S  ENCOUNTER  WITH  DEATH.  —  JIfe'Won. 

Black  it  stood  as  night, 

Fierce  as  ten  furies,  terrible  as  hell. 

And  shook  a  dreadful  dart ;  what  seemed  his  head 

The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 

Satan  was  now  at  hand  ;  and  from  his  seat 

The  monster  moving  onward  came  as  fast, 

With  horrid  strides  ;  hell  trembled  as  he  strode. 

The  indaunted  fiend  what  this  might  be  admired, 

Admired,  not  feared  ;  God  and  His  Son  except, 

Created  thing  naught  valued  he,  nor  shunned. 

And  with  disdainful  look  thus  first  began  :  — 

"  Whence,  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape ! 
That  darest,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  tront  athwart  my  way 
To  yonder  gates  ?    Through  them  I  mean  to  past 
That  be  assured,  without  leave  asked  of  thee  : 
Retire,  or  taste  thy  tolly ;  and  learn  by  proof, 
Hellborn  !  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  Heaven .' 

To  whom  the  goblin,  full  of  wrath,  replied :  -  - 


N  vTtRATITE  AUD  LYKICAL.  —  HUGHES. 

*  Art  tliou  that  traitor  angel,  art  thou  he, 
Who  first  broke  peace  in  Heaven,  and  faith,  till  ' 
Unbroken,  and  in  proud  rebellious  arms 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  Heaven's  sons 
Conjured  against  the  Highest ;  for  which  both  thou 
And  they,  outcast  from  God,  are  here  condemned 
To  waste  eternal  days  in  woe  and  pain  ? 
And  reckon'st  thou  thyself  with  spirits  of  Heaven, 
Hell-doomed  !  and  breathest  defiance  here  and  scorn, 
Where  I  reign  king,  and,  to  enrage  thee  more 
Thy  king  and  lord  !    Back  to  thy  punishment, 
False  fugitive !  and  to  thy  speed  add  wings ; 
Lest  with  a  whip  of  scorpions  I  pursue 
Thy  lingering,  or  with  one  stroke  of  this  dart 
Strange  horror  seize  thee,  and  pangs  unfelt  before." 

So  spake  the  grisly  terror ;  and  in  shape, 
So  speaking,  and  so  threatening,  grew  ten-fold 
More  dreadful  and  deform  :  on  the  other  side, 
Incensed  with  indignation,  Satan  stood 
Unterrified,  and  like  a  comet  burned, 
That  fires  the  length  of  Ophiuchus  huge 
In  the  Arctic  sky,  and  from  his  horrid  hair 
Shakes  pestilence  and  war.    Each  at  the  head 
Levelled  his  deadly  aim ;  their  fatal  hands 
No  second  stroke  intend ;  and  such  a  frown 
Each  cast  at  the  other,  as  when  two  black  clouds. 
With  Heaven's  artillery  fraught,  come  rattling  on 
Over  the  Caspian ;  then  stand  front  to  front 
Hovering  a  space,  till  winds  the  signal  blow 
To  join  their  dark  encounter  in  mid  air : 
So  frowned  the  mighty  combatants,  that  hell 
Grew  darker  at  their  frown  ;  so  matched  they  stood  j 
For  never  but  once  more  was  either  like 
To  meet  so  great  a  Foe  :  and  now  great  deeds 
riad  been  achieved,  whereof  all  hell  had  rung. 
Had  not  the  snaky  sorceress  that  sat  ' 
Fast  by  hell-gate,  and  kept  the  fatal  key, 
Risen,  and  with  hideous  outcry  rushed  between. 


6.    BELSHAZZAR'S       AST.  -  T.  S.  Hughes.  Adaptation. 

J OT  holds  her  court  in  great  Belshazzar's  hall, 
Where  his  proud  lords  attend  their  monarch's  cali 
The  rarest  dainties  of  the  teeming  East 
Provoke  the  revel  and  adorn  the  feast. 
And  now  the  monarch  rises.  —  "  Pour,"  he  enai 
"  To  the  great  gods,  the  Assyrian  deities  I 
Poui  forth  libations  of  the  rosy  wine 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

To  Nebo,  Bel,  and  all  the  powers  divine ! 
Those  golden  vessels  crown,  which  erewhile  stood 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  J udah's  (ioa, 
Till  that  accursed  race  —  " 

But  why,  0  king  ! 
VThj  dost  thou  start,  with  livid  cheek  ?-- why  fling 

The  untasted  goblet  from  thy  trembling  hand  ? 
Why  shake  thy  joints,  thy  feet  forget  to  stand  ? 
Why  roams  thine  eye,  which  seems  in  wild  amaze 
To  shun  some  object,  yet  returns  to  gaze,  — 
Then  shrinks  again  appalled,  as  if  the  tomb 
Had  sent  a  spirit  from  its  inmost  gloom  ? 

Awful  the  horror,  when  Belshazzar  raised 

His  arm,  and  pointed  where  the  vision  blazed ! 

For  see  !  enrobed  in  flame,  a  mystic  shade, 

As  of  a  hand,  a  red  right-hand,  displayed  ! 

And,  slowly  moving  o'er  the  wall,  appear 

Letters  of  fate,  and  characters  of  fear. 

In  deathlike  silence  grouped,  the  revellers  all 

Fix  their  glazed  eyeballs  on  the  illumined  wall. 

See!  now  the  vision  brightens,  —  now  'tis  gone, 

Like  meteor  flash,  like  Heaven's  own  lightning  flown ! 

But,  though  the  hand  hath  vanished,  what  it  writ 

Is  uneffaced.    Who  will  interpret  it  ? 

In  vain  the  sages  try  their  utmost  skill ; 

The  mystic  letters  are  unconstrued  still. 

"  Quick,  bring  the  Prophet !  —  let  his  tongue  proclaim 
The  mystery  of  that  visionary  flame." 
The  holy  Prophet  came,  and  stood  upright, 
With  brow  serene,  before  Belshazzar's  sight. 
The  monarch  pointed  trembhng  to  the  wall : 
"  Behold  the  portents  that  our  heart  appall ! 
Interpret  them,  0  Prophet !  thou  shalt  know 
What  gifts  Assyria's  monarch  can  bestow." 

Unutterably  awful  was  the  eye 
Which  met  the  monarch's ;  and  the  stern  reply 
Fell  heavy  on  his  soul :  "  Thy  gifts  withhold, 
Nor  tempt  the  Spirit  of  the  Law,  with  gold. 
Belshazzar,  hear  what  these  dread  words  reveal . 
That  lot  on  which  the  Eternal  sets  his  seal. 
Thy  kingdom  numbered,  and  thy  glory  flown 
The  Mede  and  Persian  revel  on  thy  throne. 
Weighed  in  the  balance,  thou  ha,st  kicked  the  be&m , 
See  to  yon  Western  sun  the  lances  gleam, 
Which,  ere  his  Orient  rays  adorn  the  sky, 
Thy  blood  shall  sullj  with  a  crimson  dye.' 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  HEMANS 


411 


In  the  dire  carnage  of  that  night's  dread  hour, 
Crushed  mid  the  ruins  of  his  crumbling  power, 
Belshazzar  fell  beneath  an  unknown  blow  — 
His  kingdom  wasted,  and  its  pride  laid  low  ! 


7.  BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO.  —  iJ/rs.  iceman.* 
fh°  celebrated  Spanish  champion,  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  having  made  many  ineffecttial  efforts 
to  prMure  the  release  of  his  father,  the  Count  Saldana,  who  had  been  imprisoned  by  Kiui 
A.!phonso  of  Asturias,  almost  from  the  time  of  Bernardo's  birth,  at  last  took  up  arms  in  despair 
The  war  which  he  mamtained  proved  so  destructive,  that  the  men  of  the  land  "-athered  roimd 
Jhe  king,  and  united  in  demanding  Saldana's  liberty.  Alphonso  accordin-ly  f.fifered  Bernardo 
unmediate  possession  of  his  father's  person,  in  exchange  for  his  castle  of''  Car])io.  Bernardo 
without  hesitation,  gave  up  his  strong-hold  with  all  his  captives  ;  and,  being  assured  that  his 
father  was  then  on  his  way  from  prison,  rode  forth  with  the  king  to  meet  him.  "  And  when 
he  saw  his  father  spproaching,  he  exclaimed,"  says  the  ancient  chronicle,  " '  0,  God  '  is  tha 
Count  of  Saldana  indeed  coming  ? '  '  Look  where  he  is,'  replied  the  cruel  king,  '  and  now  go 
and  greet  hun,  whom  you  have  so  long  desired  to  see.' "  The  remainder  of  the  story  will  be 
found  related  in  the  ballad.  The  chronicles  and  romances  leave  us  nearly  in  the  dark  as  to  Ber- 
nardo's  history  after  this  event. 

The  warrior  bowed  his  crested  head,  and  tamed  his  heart  of  fire, 
And  sued  the  haughty  king  to  free  his  long-imprisoned  sire  ; 
"  I  bring  thee  here  my  fortress-keys,  I  bring  my  captive  train, 
I  pledge  thee  faith,  my  liege,  my  lord  !  —  O  !   break  my  father's 
chain !  " 

"  Rise,  rise !  even  now  thy  father  comes,  a  ransomed  man,  this  day ! 
Mount  thy  good  horse  ;  and  thou  and  I  will  meet  him  on  his  way.'' 
Then  lightly  rose  that  loyal  son,  and  bounded  on  his  steed, 
And  urged,  as  if  with  lance  in  rest,  the  charger's  foamy  speed. 
And  lo !  from  far,  as  on  they  pressed,  there  came  a  glittering  band, 
With  one  that  'midst  them  stately  rode,  as  a  leader  in  the  land  : 
"  Now  haste,  Bernardo,  haste !  for  there,  in  very  truth,  is  he, 
The  father  whom  thy  faithful  heart  hath  yearned  so  long  to  see." 

His  dark  eye  flashed,  his  proud  breast  heaved,  hiS  cheek's  hue  came 
and  went ; 

He  reached  that  gray-haired  chieftain's  side,  and  there,  dismountini^ 
bent ;  ^' 

A  lowly  knee  to  earth  he  bent,  his  father's  hand  he  took  

What  was  there  in  its  touch  that  all  his  fiery  spirit  shook  ? 

That  hand  was  cold,  —  a  frozen  thing,  —  it  dropped  from  his  like  lead  I 

He  looked  up  to  the  face  above,  —  the  face  was  of  the  dead  ! 

A  plume  waved  o'er  the  noble  brow,  —  the  brow  was  fixed  and  white . 

He  met,  at  last,  his  father's  eyes,  —  but  in  them  was  no  sight ! 

Up  from  the  ground  he  sprang  and  gazed ;  —  but  who  could  paint  thai 
gaze  ? 

They  hushed  their  very  hearts,  that  saw  its  horror  and  amaze :  

They  might  have  chained  him,  as  before  that  stony  form  he  stood ; 
For  the  power  was  stricken  from  his  arm,  and  from  his  lip  the  blood. 

"Father  !  "  at  length  he  murmured  low,  and  wept  like  childhood  then 
Talk  nr>t  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  of  warlik'^  men  » 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


He  thought  on  all  his  glorious  hopes,  and  all  his  young  renown,  - 
Eo  flung  his  falchion  from  his  side,  and  in  the  dust  sat  down, 
rhen  covermg  with  his  steel-gloved  hands  his  darkly  mournful  brow. 
"  No  more,  there  is  no  more,"  he  said,  "  to  lift  the  sword  for,  now  , 
My  king  is  false,  —  my  hope  betrayed !    My  father  —  0  !  the  worth 
The  glory,  and  the  loveliness,  are  passed  away  from  earth ! 

I  thought  to  stand  where  banners  waved,  my  sire,  beside  thee,  yet ! 
[  would  that  there  our  kindred  blood  on  Spain's  free  soil  had  met ! 
Thou  wouldst  have  known  my  spirit,  then  ;  —  for  thee  my  fields  wen 
won  ; 

And  thou  hast  perished  in  thy  chains,  as  though  thou  hadst  no  son ! ' 

Then,  starting  from  the  ground  once  more,  he  seized  the  monarch's 
rein.. 

Amidst  the  pale  and  wildered  looks  of  all  the  courtier  train ; 
And,  with  a  fierce,  o'ermastering  gi'asp,  the  rearing  war-horse  led, 
And  sternly  set  them  face  to  face,  —  the  king  before  the  dead :  — 

"  Came  I  not  forth,  upon  thy  pledge,  my  father's  hand  to  kiss  ?  ^ 

—  Be  still,  and  gaze  thou  on,  false  king  !  and  tell  me  what  is  this? 
The  voice,  the  glance,  the  heart  I  sought,  —  give  answer,  where  ar« 

they? 

—  If  thou  wouldst  clear  thy  perjured  soul,  send  life  through  this  cold 

clay ! 

«  Into  these  glassy  eyes  put' light ;  —  be  still !  keep  down  thine  ire  !  — 
Bid  these  white  lips  a  blessing  speak,  —  this  earth  is  not  my  sire  :  — 
Give  me  back  him  for  whom  I  strove,  for  whom  my  blood  was  shed  ! 
Thou  canst  not  ?  —  and  a  king !  —  his  dust  be  mountains  on  thy  head  !  " 

He  loosed  the  steed,  —  his  slack  hand  fell ;  —  upon  the  silent  face 
He  cast  one  long,  deep,  troubled  look,  then  turned  from  that  sad  place  : 
His  hope  was  crushed,  his  after  fate  untold  in  martial  strain  :  — 
His  banner  led  the  spears  no  more,  amidst  the  hills  of  Spam. 


CASABIANCA.  —Mrs.  Hemans. 


Younrr  Casabianca,  a  boy  about  thirteen  years  old,  son  to  the  Admiral  of  the  Orient,  remained 
at  post  (in  the  battle  of  the  Nile)  after  the  ship  had  taken  fire,  and  all  the  guns  had  bee. 
abandoned :  and  perished  in  the  explosion  of  the  vessel,  when  the  flames  had  reached  the  po». 
ier. 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck,  whence  all  but  he  had  fled  ; 

The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck  shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood,  as  born  to  rule  the  storm,  — 

A  cieature  of  heroic  blood,  a  proud,  though  child-like  form. 

The  flames  rolled  on  —  he  would  not  go,  without  his  Father's  word , 

That  Father,  faint  in  death  below,  hu'  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud  :  —  "  Say,  Father,  say,  if  yet  my  task  is  done  «  " 

He  knen  not  that  the  chieftain  lay,  unconscious  of  his  son. 


NARRATITE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  fEMANS. 


419 


Speak,  Father  !  "  once  again  he  cried,  "  if  I  may  yet  be  ^one  ! 
And  "  ^  -  but  the  booming  shots  replied,  and  fast  the  flames  rolM  on 
Opon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath,  and  in  his  waving  hair, 
A.nd  looked  from  tnat  lone  post  of  death,  in  still,  yet  brave  despair. 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud,  "  My  Father !  must  I  stay  ?  " 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud,  the  wreathing  fires  made 
way. 

They  wrapped  the  ship  in  splendor  wild,  they  caught  ti  e  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child,  like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound,  —  the  boy  —  0  !  where  was  he  ^ 
Ask  of  the  winds,  that  far  around  with  fragments  strewed  the  sea, 
With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair,  that  well  had  borne  their  part ! 
But  the  noblest  thing  which  perished  there  was  that  youn^,  faithful 
heart ! 

9.    BOCKS  OF  MY  COUNTRY,— JV/rs.  Remans. 

EocKS  of  my  country !  let  the  cloud  your  crested  heights  array, 
And  rise  ye,  like  a  fortress  proud,  above  the  surge  and  spray ! 
My  spirit  greets  you  as  ye  stand,  breasting  the  billow's  foam  : 
0 !  thus  forever  guard  the  land,  the  severed  Land  of  Home ! 

I  have  left  rich  blue  skies  behind,  lighting  up  classic  shrines, 
And  music  in  the  southern  wind,  and  sunshine  on  the  vines. 
The  breathings  of  the  myrtle-flowers  have  floated  o'er  my  way , 
The  pilgrim's  voice,  at  vesper-hours,  hath  soothed  me  with  its  lay. 

The  Isles  of  Greece,  the  Hills  of  Spain,  the  purple  Heavens  of  Rome 
Yes,  all  are  glorious ;  —  yet  again  I  bless  thee,  Land  of  Home  ! 
For  thine  the  Sabbath  peace,  my  land  !  and  thine  the  guarded  hearth 
And  thine  the  dead,  the  noble  band,  that  make  thee  holy  earth. 

Their  voices  meet  me  in  thy  breeze,  their  steps  are  on  thy  plains ; 
Their  names  by  old  majestic  trees  are  whispered  round  thy  fanes. 
Their  blood  hath  mingled  with  the  tide  of  thine  exulting  sea ; 
0  !  be  it  still  a  joy,  a  pride,  to  live  and  die  for  thee  ! 


10.   THE  TWO  HOMES.  —Mrs.  Hemans, 

Seest  thou  my  home  ?  —  't  is  where  yon  woods  are  waving, 
In  their  dark  richness,  to  the  summer  air; 
Where  yon  blue  stream,  a  thousand  flower-banks  .aving, 
Leads  down  the  hills,  a  vein  of  light,  —  't  is  there  ! 

'Midst  those  green  wilds  how  many  a  fount  lies  gleaming 
Fringed  with  the  violet,  colored  with  the  skies  ! 
My  boyhood's  haunt,  through  days  of  summer  drejiining 
Under  young  leaves  that  shook  with  melodies. 

My  homo  !  the  spirit  of  its  love  is  breathing 
In  every  wind  that  plays  across  my  track  • 


114 


THE  STANDARD  «PEAKE1U 


From  its  white  walls  the  very  tendrils  wreathing 
Seem  with  soft  links  to  draw  the  wanderer  back. 
There  am  I  loved,  —  there  prayed  for,  —  there  my  moifaei 
Sits  by  the  hearth  with  meekly  thoughtful  eye ; 
;  There  my  young  sisters  watch  to  greet  their  brother  — 
Soon  their  glad  footsteps  down  the  path  will  fly. 

There,  m  sweet  strains  of  kindred  music  blending. 

All  the  home-voices  meet'at  day's  decline ; 

One  are  those  tones,  as  from  one  heart  ascending  : 

There  laughs  my  home,  —  sad  stranger  !  where  is  thine  *.  — 

Ask'st  thou  of  mine  ?  —  In  solemn  peace 't  is  lying, 

Far  o'er  the  deserts  and  the  tombs  away ; 

'T  is  where  I,  too,  am  loved  with  love  undying. 

And  fond  hearts  wait  my  step.  —  But  where  are  they? 

Ask  where  the  earth's  departed  have  their  dwelling  : 

Ask  of  the  clouds,  the  stars,  the  trackless  air ! 

I  know  it  not,  yet  trust  the  whisper,  telling 

My  lonely  heart  that  love  unchanged  is  there. 

And  what  is  home  and  where,  but  with  the  loving  ? 
Happy  thou  art,  that  so  canst  gaze  on  thine ! 
My  spirit  feels  iDut,  in  its  weary  ro\nng, 
That  with  the  dead,  where'er  they  be,  is  mine. 

Go  to  thy  home,  rejoicing  son  and  brother  ! 
Bear  in  fresh  gladness  to  the  household  scene ! 
For  me,  too,  watch  the  sister  and  the  mother, 
I  will  believe  —  but  dark  seas  roll  between. 


11.  INVOCATION. —Mrs.  ^femans. 

Answer  me,  burning  stars  of  night !  where  is  the  spirit  gone. 
That  past  the  reach  of  human  sight  as  a  swift  breeze  hath  Sown  ?  - 
And  the  stars  answered  me,  "  We  roll  in  light  and  power  on  high ; 
But,  of  the  never-dying  soul,  ask  that  which  cannot  die." 
0  !  many-toned  and  chainless  wind !  thou  art  a  wanderer  free ; 
Tell  me  if  thou  its  place  canst  find,  far  over  mount  and  sea  ?  - 
And  the  wind  murmured,  in  reply,  "  The  blue  deep  I  have  crossea 
And  met  its  barks  and  billows  high,  but  not  what  thou  hast  lost." 
Ye  clouds  that  gorgeously  repose  around  the  setting  sun. 
Answer !  have  ye  a  home  for  those  whose  earthly  race  is  run  ?  — 
The  bright  clouds  answered,  "  We  depart,  we  vanish  from  the  sky , 
Ask  what  is  deathless  in  thy  heart  for  that  which  cannot  die." 
Speak,  then,  thou  voice  of  God  within,  thou  of  the  deep,  low  tone! 
Answer  me  through  life's  restless  din,  where  is  the  spirit  flown  ?  — 
And  the  voice  answered,  "  Be  thou  still !    Enougli  to  know  is  given 
niouds,  winds  and  stars,  their  part  fulfil,— ^/u'we  is  to  trust  in  Hejivoii-*' 


JJAURATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  SCOTT. 


12.  WCmmAB..  — Sir  TFalter  Scott. 

O,  ro  jNG  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West, — 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had  none,  — 
Ho  rode  all  unarmed  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 
He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate. 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 
So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall, 
'Mong  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all  . 
Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 
"0,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?  " 
"  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  — my  suit  you  denied;  — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide ; 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine. 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 
The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar,  

"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !  "  said  young  Lochinvar 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume 

And  the  bridemaidens  whispered,  "  '  Twere  better,  by  far. 

To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar."  * 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear. 

When  they  reached  the  hall  door,  and  the  charger  stood  neai 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung. 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 

"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur , 

They  '11  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young  Lochinvai 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan  : 

Porsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode,  and  they  ran 


THE  STANDART>  SPEAKER. 


There  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne  'er  did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar^ 


MARMION  TAKING  LEAVE  QE  DOUGLAS.  —Sir  Walter  Scott 

The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew ; 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu :  — 

"Though  somethiig  I  might  'plain,"  he  said. 
•*  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 
Sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest. 

While  in  Tan tal Ion's  towers  I  stayed,  — 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land. 
And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand." 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke :  — 
"  My  manors,  halls  and  bowers,  shall  still 
Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 
My  castles  are  my  King's  alone. 
From  turret  to  foundation-stone ;  — 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own ; 
And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp !  " 
Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fir© 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And  —  "  This  to  me  ! "  he  said ; 
"  An 't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  IMarmion's  had  not  spareG 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head ! 
And  first  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He  who  docs  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 

May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate ! 

And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 
Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 

Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near 

'N-ay,  never  look  upon  your  Lord, 

\ml  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword  !>j 
I  tell  thee,  thou  'rt  defied ! 

A.nd  if  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  hero, 

Lowland  or  Highljind,  far  or  near, 
Lord  Angus,  t'.iou  hast  lied !  " 

On  the       s  check  the  flush  of  rage 

O'ercame  the  -ishen  hue  of  age  i , 


NARRATIVE  .  UND  LYRICAL.  SCOTT. 


Fierce  he  broke  forth  :  — And  dare'st  thou,  tiiea 
To  beard  the  lion  in  -his  den,  — 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms  !  —  what,  warder,  ho ! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 
Lord  Mar  m  ion  turned,  —  well  was  his  need.  — 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed ; 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung  : 
To  pass,  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise: 

Not  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim : 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reached  his  banO, 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 

A  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours. 

And  shakes  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers ! 


14.    THE  DEATH  OF  MARMION.  — S'ccM. 

And  soon  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen,  drenched  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strained  the  broken  brand, 
His  arms  were  smeared  with  blood  and  sand  j 
Dragged  fi-om  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone,  — 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  ? 
Young  Blount  his  armor  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 

Said  —  "  V)j  Saint  George,  he 's  gone  ! 
The  spoar-wound  has  our  master  sped  : 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head ! 

Good-night  to  Marmion  !  " 
"  Unnurtured  ! Blount !  thy  brawling  cease  ; 
He  opes  his  ej^es,"  said  Eustace;  "  peace  !" 
When,  doffed  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air. 
Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare  ; 
"  Where 's  Marry  Blount  ?  Fitz  Eustace,  where  ^ 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ? 
Redeem  my  pennon  !  —  charge  again ! 
Ory,  'Marmion  to  the  rescue  ! '  —  Vain  ! 
27 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

LaBt  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again ! 
Must  I  bid  twice  ?  —  hence,  varlets  !  fij 
Leave  Marmion  here  alone  —  to  die." 

With  fruitless  labor  Clara  bound, 

And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound. 

The  war,  tbat  for  a  space  did  fail, 

Now,  trebly  thundering,  swelled  the  gale, 

And  "  Stanley  !  "  was  the  cry  ; 
A  light  on  IMarmion's  visage  spread. 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  ; 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted,  "  Victory  !  " 
"  Charge,  Ciiester,  charge  !  On,  Stanley,  O! 

Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 


15.   THE  DEATH  OF  BERTRAM.  —  Sir  JValter  SfoSS 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  hardened  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near,  — 
The  very  Jeath's-men  paused  to  hear. 
'T  is  in  the  churchyard  now  —  the  treivd 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead ! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung. 
When  through  the  Gothic  arcb  there  sprung 
A  horseman  armed,  at  headlong  speed  — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed. 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurned, 
The  vaults'  unwonted  clang  returned  !  — 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddle-bow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look  ! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook,  — 
All  scattered  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham ! 
rhrce  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave ; 
The  first  has  reached  the  central  nave, 
The  second  cleared  the  chancel  wide, 
The  third  he  was  at  Wycliffe's  side  ' 
Full  levelled  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rang  the  report,  —  the  bullet  sped,  — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 
Without  a  groan,  dark  Oswald  ]<aat 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  SCOTT. 

All  was  SO  quick,  that  it  miofht  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels  ; 
But  floundered  on  the  pavement  floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'T  was  while  he  toiled  him  to  be  freed^ 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-but,  their  blows 
Hailed  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound, 
Bore  down  and  pinned  him  to  the  ground  * 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free, 
Once  gained  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 
By  ten-fold  odds  oppressed,  at  length. 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan  ! 
They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies. 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain, 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again  ! 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renewed, 
And  from  the  trunk  the  head  had  hewed 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade ; 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid  :  — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind  : 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding-sheet.' 


16.   THE  LOVE  OF  COTimRY. -Sir  fFalter  Scott. 

Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  "  ? 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  Domed, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 
From  wandnring  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 


120 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell  I 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  '^nd  pel^ 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung. 


It   THE  BARON'S  LAST  BANQUET.  —  .4/&er«  G.  Greene. 

0  ER  a  low  couch  the  setting  sun  had  thrown  its  latest  ray, 
Where,  in  his  last  strong  agony,  a  dying  warrior  lay,  — 

The  stern  old  Baron  Rudiger,  whose  frame  had  ne'er  been  bent 
By  wasting  pain,  till  time  and  toil  its  iron  strength  had  spent. 

"They  come  around  me  here,  and  say  my  days  of  life  are  o'er, — 
That  I  shall  mount  my  noble  steed  and  lead  my  band  no  more ; 
They  come,  and,  to  my  beard,  they  dare  to  tell  me  now  that  I, 
Their  own  liege  lord  and  master  born,  that  I  —  hk !  ha !  —  must  die. 

And  what  is  death  ?    I 've  dared  him  oft,  before  the  Paynim  spear 
Think  ye  he 's  entered  at  my  gate  —  has  come  to  seek  me  here  ? 
I 've  met  him,  faced  him,  scorned  him,  when  the  fight  was  raging 
hot ;  — 

1  '11  try  his  might,  I  '11  brave  his  power  !  —  defy,  and  fear  him  not ! 

"  Ho  !  sound  the  tocsin  from  my  tower,  and  fire  the  culverin ; 
Kid  each  retainer  arm  with  speed  ;  call  every  vassal  in. 
Up  with  my  banner  on  the  wall,  —  the  banquet-board  prepare,  — 
Throw  wide  the  portal  of  my  hall,  and  bring  my  armor  there ! " 

An  hundred  hands  were  busy  then  :  the  banquet  forth  was  spread, 
And  rung  the  heavy  oaken  floor  with  many  a  martial  tread ; 
While  from  the  rich,  dark  tracery,  along  the  vaulted  wall. 
Lights  gleamed  on  harness,  plume  and  spear,  o'er  the  proud  old  Gothic 
hall. 

Fast  hurrying  through  the  outer  gate,  the  mailed  retainers  poured. 
On  through  the  portal's  frowning  arch,  and  thronged  around  the  board 
While  at  its  head,  within  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair  of  state, 
Armed  cap-a-pie,  stern  Rudiger,  with  girded  falchion,  sate. 

«  Fill  every  beaker  up,  my  men  !  —  pour  forth  the  cheering  wine  I 
There's  life  and  strength  in  every  drop,  —  thanksgiving  to  the  vino? 
Are  ye  all  there,  my  vassals  true  ?  —  mine  eyes  are  waxing  dim  . 
Fill  round,  n\y  tried  and  fearless  ones,  each  goblet  to  the  brim 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYKICAL.  BROWNING. 


421 


*  Ye  Te  mere,  but:  yet  I  see  you  not !— draw  forth  each  trusty  sword, 
A-nd  let  me  hear  your  faithful  steel  clash  once  around  my  board ! 
I  hear  it  faintly  ;  —  louder  yet !    What  clogs  my  heavy  breath  ? 
Up,  all !  —  and  shout  for  Eudiger,  '  Defiance  unto  death  ! ' " 

Bowl  rang  to  bowl,  steel  clanged  to  steel,  and  rose  a  deafening  cry, 
That  made  the  torches  flare  around  and  shook  the  flags  on  high :  ' 
"Ho  !  cravens  !  do  ye  fear  him  ?    Slaves  !  traitors  !  Iiave  ye  flown  ? 
^0  I  cowards,  have  ye  left  me  to  meet  him  here  alone  ? 

"But  I  defy  him  !  —  let  him  come  ! "    Down  rang  the  massy  cup, 
While  from  its  sheath  the  ready  blade  came  flashing  half-way  up ; 
And,  with  the  black  and  heavy  plumes  scarce  trembling  on  hifj  head, 
There,  in  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair,  old  Rudiger  sat  — dead  I 


18,   "HOW  THEY  BROUGHT  THE  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  GHENT  TO  AIX,"  IS 
—  Robert  Browning. 

I  SPRANG  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he ; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three  ; 

"  Good  speed  ! "  cried  the  watch,  as  the  gate-bolts  undrew  ; 

"  Speed  !  "  echoed  the  wall  to  us  galloping  through ; 

Behind  shut  the  postern,  the  lights  sank  to  rest, 

And  into  the  midnight  we  galloped  abreast. 

-    Not  a  word  to  each  other ;  we  kept  the  great  pace 

Neck  by  neck,  stride  for  stride,  never  changing  our  place , 
I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
Then  shortened  each  stirrup,  and  set  the  pique  right, 

Rebuckled  the  cheek-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit,  

Nor  galloped  less  steadily  Roland,  a  whit. 

'T  was  moonset  at  starting ;  but  while  we  drew  near 

Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear ; 

At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see  ; 

At  Diifield,  'twas  morning  as  plain  as  could  be  ; 

And  from  Mecheln  church-steeple  we  heard  the  half-cl\iinc^ 

So  Joris  broke  silence  with,  "  Yet  there  is  time ! " 

At  Aerschot,  up  leaped  of  a  sudden  the  sun, 
And  against  him  tne  cattle  stood  black  every  one. 
To  stare  through  the  mist  at  us  galloping  past, 
And  I  saw  my  stout  galloper  Roland,  at  last, 
With  resolute  shoulders,  each  butting  away 
The  haze,  as  some  bluff  river  headland  its  spray. 

And  his  low  head  and  crest,  just  one  sharp  ear  bent  back 
For  my  voice,  and  the  other  pricked  out  on  his  track  • 
And  one  eye's  black  intelligence,  —  ever  that  glance 
O'fir  its  white  edge  at  mo,  his  own  master,  askance 


122 


THE  SIANDABD  SPEAKER. 


And  tlie  thick  heavy  spume-flakes  which  aye  and  anon 
His  fierce  lips  shook  upwards  in  galloping  on. 

By  Hasselt,  Dirck  groaned  ;  and  cried  Joris,  "  Stay  spur 

Your  lloos  galloped  bravely,  the  fault 's  not  in  her, 

We  '11  remember  at  Aix  "  *  —  for  one  heard  the  quick  wheeae 

Of  her  chest,  saw  the  stretched  neck  and  staggering  knees. 

And  sunk  tail,  and  horrible  heave  of  the  flank, 

As  down  on  her  haunches  she  shuddered  and  sank. 

So  we  were  left  galloping,  Joris  and  I, 

Past  Looz  and  past  Tongres,  no  cloud  in  the  sky ; 

The  broad  sun  above  laughed  a  pitiless  laugh, 

'i^eath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle  bright  stubble  like  chaff; 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white. 

And  "  Grallop,"  gasped  Joris,  "  for  Aix  is  in  sight !  " 

"  How  they  '11  greet  us  !  "  —  and  all  in  a  moment  his  roan 

Rolled  neck  and  croup  over,  lay  dead  as  a  stone ; 

And  there  was  my  Roland  to  bear  the  whole  weight 

Of  the  news  which  alone  could  save  Aix  from  her  fate, 

With  his  nostrils  like  pits  full  of  blood  to  the  brim, 

And  with  circles  of  red  for  his  eye-sockets'  rim. 

Then  I  cast  loose  my  buffcoat,  each  holster  let  fall, 

Shook  off  both  my  jack-boots,  let  go  belt  and  all. 

Stood  up  in  the  stirrup,  leaned,  patted  his  ear, 

Called  my  Roland  his  pet-name,  my  horse  without  peer  ; 

Clapped  my  hands,  laughed  and  sang,  any  noise,  bad  or  good, 

Till  at  length  into  Aix  Roland  galloped  and  stood. 

And  all  I  remember  is,  friends  flocking  round 

As  I  sate  with  his  head  'twixt  my  knees  on  the  ground. 

And  no  voice  but  was  praising  this  Roland  of  mine. 

As  I  poured  down  his  throat  our  last  measure  of  wine, 

Which  (the  burgesses  voted  by  common  consent) 

Was  no  more  than  his  due  who  brought  good  news  from  Ixhei 


19   THE  SOLDIER  FROM  BINGEN.  —  Jlfrs.  ^■o7■^on. 

isoLDiEi  of  the  Legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 
rnei  c  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing,  there  was  dearth  of  woman  s  tean 
But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him,  while  the  life-blood  ebbed  away, 
And  bent  with  pitying  glance  to  hear  each  word  he  had  to  say. 
I  fhe  dying  soldier  faltered,  as  he  took  that  comrade  s  hand. 
And  h3  ^id  :  "  I  never  more  shall  see  my  own  —  my  native  land  I 
Take  a  message  and  a  token  to  the  distant  friends  of  mine, 
Por  I  was  born  at  BmGEN  —  at  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 


*  The  a?  in  this  word  is  not  sounded. 


ftAREATlVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  NORTON. 


423 


♦  Uil  my  brothers  and  companions,  when  they  meet  and  crowd  around 
To  hear  my  mournful  story,  in  the  pleasant  vineyard  ground. 
That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely,  and  when  the  day  was  done, 
Full  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale,  beneath  the  setting  sun  ; 
And  midst  the  dead  and  dying  were  some  grown  old  in  wars, 
The  death-wound  on  their  gallant  breasts,  —  the  last  of  many  scars  ! 
JJut  some  were  young,  and  suddenly  beheld  Life's  morn  decline,  — 
And  one  had  come  from  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  . 

"  Tell  my  mother  that  her  other  sons  shall  comfort  her  old  age, 
For  T  was  still  a  truant  bird,  that  thought  his  home  a  cao'e  j 
For  my  father  was  a  soldier,  and,  even  when  a  child, 
My  heart  leaped  forth  to  hear  him  tell  of  struggles  fierce  and  wild ; 
And  when  he  died,  and  left  us  to  divide  his  scanty  hoard, 
I  let  them  take  whate'er  they  would,  but  kept  my  father's  sword ! 
And  with  boyish  love  I  hung  it  where  the  bright  light  used  to 
shine, 

On  the  cottage  wall  at  Bingen  —  calm  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 

"  Tell  my  sisters  not  to  weep  for  me,  and  sob  with  drooping  head. 
When  the  troops  come  marching  home  again,  with  glad  and  gallant 
tread ; 

But  to  look  upon  them  proudly,  with  a  calm  and  steadfast  eye. 
For  their  brother  was  a  soldier,  too,  and  not  afraid  to  die  ! 
And  if  a  comrade  seek  her  love,  I  ask  her  in  my  name 
To  listen  to  him  kindly,  without  regret  and  shame ; 
And  to  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  place  —  (my  father's  sword  and 
mine), 

For  the  honor  of  old  Bingen  —  dear  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 

"  There 's  another,  —  not  a  sister,  —  in  happy  days  gone  by. 

You 'd  have  known  her  by  the  merriment  that  sparkled  in  her  eye ; 

Too  innocent  for  coquetry,  too  fond  for  idle  scorning,  — 

0  !  friend,  I  fear  the  lightest  heart  makes  sometimes  heaviest  mourn* 

ing! 

Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life  —  (for,  ere  the  moon  be  risen, 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain,  my  soul  be  out  of  prison),  — 

1  dreamed  I  stood  with  her,  and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine 
On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  ! 

**  I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along,  —  I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear. 

The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and  clear ; 

And  down  the  pleasa7}t  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill. 

The  echoing  chorus  somided,  through  the  evening  calm  and  still ; 

And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me,  as  we  passed,  with  friendly  taJk 

Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well  remembered  walk ; 

And  her  httie  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly,  in  mine,  — 

But  we  '11  me(>t  no  more  at  Bingen  —  loved  Bingen  on  the  Rhine 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


His  trembling  voice  grew  faint  and  hoarse,  his  gasp  was  childish  weak 
His  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look,  —  he  sighed,  and  ceased  to  speak  ; 
His  comrade  bent  to  lift  him,  but  the  spark  of  life  had  fled  — 
The  soldier  of  the  Legion  in  a  foreign  land  was  dead  ! 
And  the  soft  moon  rose  up  slowly,  and  calmly  she  looked  down 
On  the",  red  sand  of  the  battle-field,  with  bloody  corses  strewn  ! 
Ym,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene  her  pale  light  seemed  to  shiae, 
^  it  bhone  on  distant  Bingen  —  fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhina . 


20.  THE  TORCH  OF  LIBERTY.  —  Tftowos  Moore. 

I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  glass  — 

Herself  the  fair,  the  wild  magician, 
Who  bade  this  splendid  day-dream  pass, 

And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 
'T  was  like  a  torch-race  —  such  as  they 

Of  Greece  performed,  in  ages  gone, 
When  the  fleet  youths,  in  long  array. 

Passed  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on. 

I  saw  the  expectant  Nations  stand, 

To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn  ;  — 
I  saw.  from  ready  hand  to  band. 

The  Clear,  though  struggling,  glory  burn. 
And,  0,  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 

'T  was,  in  itself,  a  joy  to  see  ;  — 
While  Fancy  whispered  in  my  ear, 

"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !  " 

And  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 

Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray ; 
Then,  smiling,  to  the  next  who  camo, 

Speeded  It  on  its  sparkling  way. 
From  Albion  first,  whose  ancient  shrine 

Was  furnished  with  the  fire  already, 
Columbia  caught  the  boon  divine, 

And  lit  a  flame,  like  Albion's,  steady. 

The  splendid  gift  then  Gallia  took, 

And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 
The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook. 

As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazing ' 
Thus,  kindling  wild,  so  fierce  and  high 

Her  altar  blazed  into  the  air. 
That  Albion,  to  that  fire  too  nigh, 

Shrank  back,  and  shuddered  at  its  glare 

N^xt,  Spain,  —  so  new  was  light  to  her. 
Leaped  at  the  torch ;  but,  ere  the  sp»rk 


ffARRATITE  AND  LmiCAL.  DTMOWD. 


That  fell  upon  her  shrine  could  stir, 

'T  was  quenched,  and  all  again  was  dark ! 

Yet,  no  —  not  quenched,  —  a  treasure,  worti 
So  much  to  mortals,  rarely  dies  : 

Again  her  living  light  looked  forth, 
And  shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eyes  I 

Who  next  received  the  flame  ?    Alas  ! 

Unworthy  Naples.  —  Shame  of  shames, 
That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pass 

That  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames ! 
Scarce  had  her  fingers  touched  the  torch, 

When,  frighted  by  the  sparks  it  shed. 
Nor  waiting  even  to  feel  the  scorch, 

She  dropped  it  to  the  earth  —  and  fled  ! 

And  fallen  it  might  have  long  remained ; 

But  Greece,  who  saw  her  moment  now. 
Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stained, 

And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 
And  Fancy  bade  me  mark  where,  o'er 

Her  altar,  as  its  flame  ascended. 
Fair  laurelled  spirits  seemed  to  soar, 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended : 

"  Shine,  shine  forever,  glorious  Flame, 

Divinest  gift  of  gods  to  men ' 
From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendor  came. 

To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again. 
Take,  Freedom,  take  thy  radiant  round ; 

When  dimmed,  revive,  —  when  lost,  return, 
Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found, 

On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn  !  " 


21.  THE  SAILOR-BOY'S  DREAM.— Dmond. 

In  slumbers  of  midnight  the  sailor-boy  lay. 

His  hammock  swung  loose  at  the  sport  of  the  wind 

But,  watch-worn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew  away, 
And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his  mind. 

He  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native  bowers. 
And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  merry  morn  ,* 
'  While  memory  stood  side-wise,  half  covered  with  flower* 
And  restored  every  rose,  but  secreted  its  thorn. 

The  jessamine  clambers  in  flower  o'er  the  thatch. 

And  the  swallow  sings  sweet  from  her  nest  in  the  wall 

All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the  latch, 
And  th3  voio^  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his  call 


126 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


A  fether  Ijends  o'er  him  with  looks  of  delight,  — 
His  cheek  is  impearled  with  a  mother's  warm  tear 

And  the  lips  of  the.  boy  in  a  love-kiss  unite 

With  the  lips  of  the  maid  whom  his  bosom  holda  dear. 

;  The  heart  of  the  sleeper  beats  high  in  his  breast, 

Joy  quickens  his  pulse  —  all  hw  hardships  seem  o'er 
And  a  murm-ur  of  happiness  steals  through  his  rest 
"  0  God  !  thou  hast  blest  me,  —  I  ask  for  no  more." 

Ah !  whence  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts  on  his  eye ! 

Ah  !  what  is  that  sound  that  now  'larums  his  ear  ? 
T  is  the  lightning's  red  glare  painting  hell  on  the  sky ! 

'T  is  the  crashing  of  thunder,  the  groan  of  the  sphere  ! 

He  springs  from  his  hammock  —  he  flies  to  the  deck; 

Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire ;  — 
Wild  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck, 

The  masts  fly  in  splinters  —  the  shrouds  are  on  fire  ! 

Like  mountains  the  billows  tumultuousl j  swell ; 

In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to  save ;  — 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 

And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  dark  wings  o'er  the  wave. 

0,  sailor-boy !  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight ! 

In  darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work  of  bliss  ;  — 
Where  now  is  the  picture  that  Fancy  touched  bright, 

Thy  parent's  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honeyed  kiss  ? 

0,  sailor-boy  !  sailor-boy  !  never  again 

Siiall  love,  home  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay ; 

Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the  main 
Full  many  a  score  fathom,  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for  thee. 
Or  redeem  form  or  frame  from  the  merciless  surge , 

But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding-sheet  be 
And  winds  in  the  midnight  of  winter  thy  dirge. 

On  beds  of  green  sea-flower  thy  limbs  shall  be' laid, 
A.round  thy  whits  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow ; 

Of  thy  fair  yellow  locks  threads  of  amber  be  made, 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

Days,  months,  years,  and  ages,  shall  circle  away, 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll ; 

Earth  loses  thy  pattern  for  ever  and  aye  — 
0,  sailor-boy '  sailor-boy  '  peace  to  thy  soul ! 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  SCHILLEIR.  igl 

tl  CiMON  AND  PYTHIAS.  —Adaptation  of  a  translation  from  StktlUr,  bi  S«  M 

Bulwer  Lytton. 

"  Now,  Dionysius,  —  tyrant,  —  die  !  " 
Stern  Damon  with  his  poniard  crept : 
The  watchful  guards  upon  him  swept; 

The  grim  king  marked  his  bearing  high. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  with  thy  knife  ?    Reply  !  "  -  » 

"  The  city  from  the  tyrant  free  !  "  — 

"  The  death-cross  shall  thy  guerdon  be.' 

"  I  am  prepared  for  death,  nor  pray," 

Haughtily  Damon  said,  "  to  live  ; 

Enough,  if  thou  one  grace  wilt  give : 
For  three  brief  suns  the  death  delay  ! 
A  sister's  nuptial  rites  now  stay 
My  promised  coming,  leagues  away ; 
I  boast  a  friend,  whose  life  for  mine. 
If  I  should  fail  the  cross,  is  thine." 

The  tyrant  mused,  and  smiled,  and  said, 

With  gloomy  craft,  "  So  let  it  be ; 

Three  days  I  will  vouchsafe  to  thee. 
But;  mark :  if,  when  the  time  be  sped. 
Thou  fail'st,  thy  surety  dies  instead. 
His  life  shall  buy  thine  own  release ; 
.  Thy  guilt  atoned,  my  wrath  shall  cease." 

And  Damon  sought  his  friend  :  "  The  king 
Ordains,  my  life,  the  cross  upon, 
Shall  pay  the  deed  I  would  have  done ; 

Yet  grants  three  days'  delay  to  me, 

My  sister's  marriage-rites  to  see, 

If  thou,  my  Pythias,  wilt  remain 

Hostage  till  I  return  again  !  " 

One  clasp  of  hands  —  and  Pythias  said 

No  word,  but  to  the  tyrant  strode. 

While  Damon  went  upon  his  road. 
Sre  the  third  sun  in  Heaven  was  red, 
The  rite  was  o'er,  the  sister  wed ; 
And  back,  with  anxious  heart  unquailing, 
He  hastes  to  keep  the  pledge  unfailing. 

Down  the  great  rains  unending  bore ! 

Down  from  the  hills  the  torrents  rashed ! 

In  one  broad  stream,  the  brooklets  gushed 
Ard  Damon  halts  beside  the  shore. 
The  bridge  was  swept  the  tides  before ! 
And  the  tumultuous  waves,  in  thunder. 
Rushed  o'er  the  shattered  aioh  and  mider 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Frantic,  dismayed,  lie  takes  Ms  stand 
Dismayed,  he  strays  and  shouts  around-. 
His  voice  awakes  no  answering  sound. 

No  boat  will  leave  the  sheltering  strand, 

To  bear  him  to  the  wished-for  land ; 

No  boatman  will  Death's  pilot  be ; 

The  wild  stream  gathers  to  a  sea  ! 

Prostrate  a  while  he  raves  —  he  weeps ; 
Then  raised  his  arms  to  J ove,  and  cried 
"  Stay  thou,  0,  stay  the  maddening  tide ! 

Midway,  behold,  the  swift  sun  sweeps 

And  ere  he  sink  adown  the  deeps. 

If  I  should  fail,  his  beams  will  see 

My  friend's  last  anguish  —  slain  for  me !  " 

Fierce  runs  the  stream  ;     more  broad  it  fio^4^ 
And  wave  on  wave  succeeds,  and  dies ; 
And  hour  on  hour,  remorseless,  flies ; 
Despair  at  last  to  daring  grows  : 
Amid  the  flood  his  form  he  throws. 
With  vigorous  arm  the  roaring  waves 
Cleaves,  and  a  God  that  pities  saves !  " 

He  wins  the  bank,  his  path  pursues, 
The  anxious  terrors  hound  him  on  — 
Lo !  reddening  in  the  evening  sun, 

From  far,  the  domes  cf  Syracuse ! 

When  towards  him  comes  Philostratus 

(His  leal  and  trusty  herdsman  he). 

And  to  the  master  bends  his  knee. 

"  Back  !  —  thou  canst  aid  thy  friend  no  more ; 
The  niggard  time  already 's  flown  — 
His  life  is  forfeit  —  save  thine  own ! 
Hour  after  hour  in  hope  he  bore. 
Nor  might  his  soul  its  faith  give  o'er ; 
Nor  could  the  tyrant's  scorn,  deriding, 
Steal  from  that  faith  one  thought  confiding !  * 

"  Too  late !  what  horrors  hast  thou  spoken  • 
Vain  life,;  since  it  cannot  requite  him ! 
But  death  can  yet  with  me  unite  him  • 
No  boast  the  tyrant's  scorn  shall  make 
How  friend  to  friend  can  faith  forsake  • 
But,  from  the  double-death,  shall  know 
That  Truth  and  Love  yet  live  below !  " 

The  sun  sinks  down  :  the  gate 's  in  vien? 
The  cross  looms  dismal  on  the  ground 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  SCHILLER.  429 

The  eager  crowd  gape  murmuring  round. 
Lo !  Pythias  bound  the  cross  unto  !  — 
When,  crowd  —  guards  —  all  —  bursts  Damon  t^xxgh 
"  Me,  doomsman !  "  shouts  he,  —  "  me,  -~  alone  S 
His  life  is  rescued  —  lo !  mine  own  I  * 

Amazement  seized  the  circling  ring. 
Linked  in  each  other's  arms  the  pair 
Stood,  thrilled  with  joy  —  yet  anguish  —  there! 

Moist  every  eye  that  gazed ;  they  bring 

The  wondrous  tidings  to  the  king  : 

His  breast  man's  heart  at  length  has  known, 

And  the  friends  stand  before  his  throne. 

Long  silent  he, — and  wondering,  long 

Gazed  on  the  pair,  then  said  :  "  Depart 

Victors ;  ye  have  subdued  mi/  heart ! 
Truth  is  no  dream  !  its  power  is  strong ! 
Give  grace  to  him  who  owns  his  wrong ' 
'T  is  mine  i/our  suppliant  now  to  be,  — ' 
Ah,  let  the  bond  of  Love  hold  Three  !  " 


8S    THE  BATTLE.  —  Translated  from  Schiller,  by  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Litton 

Heavy  and  solemn, 
A  cloudy  column, 

Through  the  green  plain  they  marching  camo ! 
Measureless  spread,  like  a  table  dread. 
For  the  wild  grim  dice  of  the  iron  game. 
Looks  are  bent  on  the  shaking  ground, 
Hearts  beat  loud  with  a  knelling  sound ; 
Swift  by  the  breasts  that  must  bear  the  brunt, 
Gallops  the  major  along  the  front ;  — 
"  Halt !  " 

And  fettered  they  stand  at  the  stark  com.mand, 
And  the  warriors,  silent,  halt ! 

Proud  in  the  blush  of  morning  glowing, 
What  on  the  hill-top  shines  in  flowing  ? 

"  See  you  the  foeman's  banners  waving?  "  

"  We  see  the  foeman's  banners  wavino- !  " . 
"  God  be  with  ye,  children  and  wife  T" 

Hark  to  the  music,  —  the  trump  and  the  fife,  

How  they  ring  through  the  ranks,  which  they  rouse  to  the  strife' 

Thrilhng  they  sound,  with  their  glorious  tone,  

Thrilling  they  go  through  the  marrow  and  bone" 
Brothers,  God  grant,  when  this  life  is  o'er^ 
hi  the  life  to  come  that  we  meet  once  more! 


■30 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


See  the  smoke  how  the  lightning  is  cleaving  asunder  J 

Hark !  the  guns,  peal  on  peal,  how  thej  boom  ia  their  thundet 

From  host  to  host,  with  kindling  sound, 

The  shouting  signal  circles  round ; 

Aj,  shout  it  forth  to  life  or  death,  — 

Freer  already  breathes  the  breath ! 

The  war  is  waging,  slaughter  raging, 

And  heavy  through  the  reeking  pail 

The  iron  death-dice  fall ! 
Nearer  they  close,  —  foes  upon  foes. 
"  Ready  !  "  —  from  square  to  square  it  goes. 

They  k^eel  as  one  man,  from  flank  to  flank, 
And  the  fire  comes  sharp  from  the  foremost  rank.  . 
Many  a  soldier  to  earth  is  sent. 
Many  a  gap  by  the  balls  is  rent ; 
O'er  the  corse  before  springs  the  hinder  man, 
That  the  line  may  not  fail  to  the  fearless  van. 
To  the  right,  to  the  left,  and  around  and  around, 
Death  whirls  in  its  dance  on  the  bloody  ground. 
God's  sunlight  is  quenched  in  the  fiery  fight, 
Over  the  host  falls  a  brooding  night ! 
Brothers,  God  grant,  when  this  life  is  o'er, 
In  the  life  to  come  that  we  7neet  once  more  ! 

The  dead  men  lie  bathed  in  the  weltering  blood, 

And  the  living  are  blent  in  the  slippery  flood. 

And  the  feet,  as  they  reeling  and  sliding  go, 

Stumble  still  on  the  corses  that  sleep  below. 

"  What !  Francis !  "  —  "  Oive  Charlotte  my  last  farewell." 

As  the  dying  man  murmurs,  the  thunders  swell.  — 

"  I  '11  give  —  0  Grod !  are  their  guns  so  near  ? 

Ho !  comrades  !  —  yon  volley  !  —  look  sharp  to  the  rear  '  — ^ 

I  '11  give  thy  Charlotte  thy  last  fiirewell ; 

Sleep  soft !  where  death  thickest  descendeth  in  rain. 

The  friend  thou  forsakest  thy  side  may  regain  !  " 

Hitherward,  thitherward  reels  the  fight ;  ^ 

Dark  and  more  darkly  day  glooms  into  night , 

Brothers,  God  grant,  when  this  life  is  o'ei, 

In  the  life  to  come  that  we  meet  once  more  ! 

Hark  to  the  hoofs  that  galloping  go . 

The  adjutants  flying,  — 
The  horsemen  press  hard  on  the  panting  fbe 

Their  thunder  booms,  in  dying  — 
Victory ! 

Terror  has  seized  on  the  dastards  all, 
And  their  colors  fall ! 

Victory ' 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  SCHILLER.  431 

Closed  is  the  brunt  of  the  glorious  fight; 

And  the  day,  like  a  conqueror,  bursts  on  the  ni^ht. 

Trumpet  and  fife  swelling  choral  along, 

The  triumph  already  sweeps  marching  in  song 

Farewell,  fallen  brothers  ;  though  this  life  be  o^er^ 

There 's  another,  in  which  we  shall  meet  you  once  mor»  f 


24.   THE  GLOVE.— 5cAz7/er.    Born,  11  b9;  died,  im. 

Before  his  lion-garden  gate, 

The  wild-beast  combat  to  await, 

King  Francis  sate : 

Around  him  were  his  nobles  placed, 

The  balcony  above  was  graced 

By  ladies  of  the  court,  in  gorgeous  state : 

And  as  with  his  finger  a  sign  he  made, 

The  iron  grating  was  open  laid. 

And  with  stately  step  and  mien 

A  lion  to  enter  was  seen. 

With  fearful  look 

His  mane  he  shook, 

And  yawning  wide, 

Stared  around  him  on  every  side  ; 

And  stretched  his  giant  limbs  of  stisength, 

And  laid  himself  down  at  his  fearful  length 

And  the  king  a  second  signal  made,  — 

And  instant  was  opened  wide 

A  second  gate,  on  the  other  side, 

From  which,  with  fiery  bound, 

A  tiger  sprung. 

Wildly  the  wild  one  yelled. 

When  the  lion  he  beheld ; 

And,  bristling  at  the  look, 

With  his  tail  his  sides  he  strook, 

And  rolled  his  rabid  tongue. 

And,  with  glittering  eye, 

Crept  round  the  lion  slow  and  shy 

Then,  horribly  howling, 

And  grimly  growling, 

Down  by  his  side  himself  he  laid. 

And  the  king  another  signal  made  • 

The  opened  grating  vomited  then 

Two  leopards  forth  from  their  dreadful  den, 

They  rush  on  the  tiger,  with  signs  of  rage. 

Eager  the  deadly  fight  to  wage, 

Who,  fierce,  with  paws  uplifted  stood. 


132 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKETt. 


And  the  lion  sprang  up  witli  an  awful  roaP, 
Then  were  still  the  fearful  tour : 
And  the  monsters  on  the  ground 
Crouched  in  a  circle  round, 
Greedy  to  taste  of  blood. 

Now,  from  the  balcony  above, 
A  snowy  hand  let  fall  a  glove : 
Midway  between  the  beasts  of  prey, 
Lion  and  tiger,  —  there  it  lay. 
The  winsome  lady's  glove ! 

And  the  Lady  Kunigund,  in  bantering  mood, 
Spoke  to  Knight  Delorges,  who  by  her  stood  ? 
"  If  the  flame  which  but  now  to  me  you  swore 
Burns  as  strong  as  it  did  before, 
Go  pick  up  my  glove,  Sir  Knight." 
And  he,  with  action  quick  as  sight. 
In  the  horrible  place  did  stand ; 
And  with  dauntless  mien, 
From  the  beasts  between 
Took  up  the  glove,  with  fearless  hand ; 
And  as  ladies  and  nobles  the  bold  deed  saw, 
Their  breath  they  held,  through  fear  and  awe. 
The  glove  he  brings  back,  composed  and  light. 
His  praise  was  announced  by  voice  and  look. 
And  Kunigund  rose  to  receive  the  knight 
With  a  smile  that  promised  the  deed  to  requite; 
But  straight  in  her  face  he  flung  the  glove,  — 
«'  1  neither  desire  your  thanks  nor  love  ;" 
And  from  that  same  hour  the  lady  forsook. 


2^    THE  FATE  OP  VIRGINIA  * 

"  Why  is  the  Forum  crowded  ?    What  means  this  stir  in  Rome  ? 
«  Claimed  as  a  slave,  a  irec-born  maid  is  dragged  here  from  her  home 
On  fair  Virginia,  Claudius  has  cast  his  eye  of  blight ; 
The  tyrant's  creature,  Marcus,  asserts  an  owner's  right. 
0  shame  on  Roman  manhood !    Was  ever  plot  more  clear  ? 
But,  look !  the  maiden's  father  conies !    Behold  Virginius  here !  " 

Straif'htway  Virginius  led  the  maid  a  little  space  aside. 
To  where  tlie  reeking  shambles  stood,  piled  up  with  horn  and  hide 
Hard  by  a  butcher  on  a  block  had  laid  his  whittle  down,  — 
Virginius  caught  the  whittle  up,  and  hid  it  in  his  gown. 

•  In  order  to  render  the  coTnniencotnent  leas  abrupt,  six  lines  of  introduotioil  Lar< 
been  added  to  this  extract  iVoui  the  line  ballad  by  Macaulay. 


NARI^aTIVE  and  lyrical.  — M5VCAULAY.  433" 

And  then  his  eyes  grew  very  dim,  and  his  throai  began  to  swell, 
And  in  a  hoarse,  changed  voice,  he  spake,  "  Farewell,  sweet  child 
Farewell ! 

The  honse  that  was  the  happiest  within  the  Roman  walls,  — 
The  house  that  envied  not  the  wealth  of  Capua's  marble  halls.  - 
Now,  for  the  brightness  of  thy  smile,  must  have  eternal  gloom, 
And,  for  the  music  of  thy  voice,  the  silence  of  the  toml 
The  time  is  come.    The  tyrant  points  his  eager  hand  this  way ! 
See  how  his  eyes  gloat  on  thy  grief,  like  a  kite's  upon  the  prey ! 
With  all  his  wit,  he  little  deems,  that,  spurned,  betrayed,  bereft. 
Thy  father  hath,  in  his  despair,  one  fearful  refuge  left ; 
He  little  deems,  that,  in  this  hand,  I  clutch  what  still  can  save 
Thy  gentle  youth  from  taunts  and  blows,  the  portion  of  the  slave  .• 
Tea,  and  from  nameless  evil,  that  passeth  taunt  and  blow,  — 
Foyl  outrage,  which  thou  knowest  not,  —  which  thou  shalt  never 
know. 

Then  clasp  me  round  the  neck  once  more,  and  give  me  one  moie  K.iaa , 
And  now,  mine  own  dear  little  girl,  there  is  no  way  but  this !  " 
With  that,  he  lifted  high  the  steel,  and  smote  her  in  the  side, 
And  in  her  blood  she  sank  to  earth,  and  with  one  sob  she  died. 

Then,  for  a  little  moment,  all  people  held  their  breath ; 

And  through  the  crowded  Forum  was  stillness  as  of  death ; 

And  in  another  moment  brake  forth  from  one  and  all 

A  cry  as  if  the  Volscians  were  coming  o'er  the  wall ; 

Till,  with  white  lips  and  bloodshot  eyes,  Virginius  tottered  nio-h, 

And  stood  before  the  judgment  seat,  and  held  the  knife  on  hwh. 

"  0,  dwellers  in  the  nether  gloom,  avengers  of  the  slain, 

By  this  dear  blood  .1  cry  to  you,  do  right  between  us  twain; 

And  e'en  as  Appius  Claudius  hath  dealt  by  me  and  mine, 

Deal  you  by  Appius  Claudius  and  all  the  Claudian  line !" 

So  spake  the  slayer  of  his  child  ;  then,  where  the  body  lay, 

Pausing,  he  cast  one  haggard  glance,  and  turned  and  went  his  way.  • 

Then  up  sprang  Appius  Claudius  :  "  Stop  him,  alive  or  dead ' 
Ten  thousand  pounds  of  copper  to  the  man  who  brings  his  head ! " 
He  looked  upon  his  clients,  —  but  none  would  work  his  will ; 
He  looked^  upon  his  lietors,  —  but  they  trembled  and  stood  still. 
And  as  Virginius  through  the  press  his  way  in  silence  cioft, 
Ever  the  mighty  multitude  fell  back  to  right  and  left. 
And  he  hath  passed  in  safety  unto  his  wotul  home, 
Ani  there  ta'en  horse  to  tell  the  camp  what  deeds  are  done  in  Rom*. 


26.    HORATIUS  AT  THE  BRWUE.  -  Adapted  from  Macau  lay . 

The  Coni^ul's  brow  was  sad,  and  the  Consul's  speech  Avas  hir. 

And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall,  and  darkly  at  the  foe. 

'  Their  van  will  be  upon  us  before  the  bridge  goes  down  ; 

And  if  they  once  njay  win  the  bridge,  what  hnpe  to  save  tho  towu  ?  ' 


134 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


Then  out  spoke  brave  Horatius,  the  Captain  of  the  gate  : 
» To  every  man  upon  this  earth  death  cometh,  soon  or  late. 
Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul,  with  all  the  speed  ye  may, 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me,  will  hold  the  foe  m  play. 

In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand  may  well  be  stopped  by  three.  ^ 
Now  who  will  stand  on  either  hand,  and  keep  the  bridge  with  me  f 
Then  out  spake  Spurius  Lartius,  —  a  Ramnian  proud  was  he,  -~  ^ 
"  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand,  and  keep  the  bridge  with  thee. 

And  out  spake  strong  Herminius,  —  of  Titian  blood  was  he,  — - 

«'  I  will  abide  on  thy  left  side,  and  keep  the  bridge  with  thee. 

"  Horatius,"  quoth  the  Consul,  "  as  thou  sayest,  so  let  it  be. 

And  straight  against  that  great  array,  forth  went  the  dauntless  Three 

Soon  all  Etruria's  noblest  felt  their  hearts  sink  to  see 
On  the  earth  the  bloody  corpses,  in  the  path  the  dauntless  ihree. 
And  from  the  ghastly  entrance,  where  those  bold  Romans  stood. 
The  bravest  shrank  like  boys  who  rouse  an  old  bear  in  the  wood. 

But  meanwhile  axe  and  lever  have  manMly  been  plied. 
And  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering  above  the  boiling  tide. 
"  Come  back,  come  back,  Horatius  ! "  loud  cried  the  Fathers  all : 
«  Back,  Lartius  !  back,  Herminius  !  back,  ere  the  rum  fall ! 

Back  darted  Spurius  Lartius  ;  Herminius  darted  back  ; 

And,  as  they  passed,  beneath  their  feet  they  felt  the  timbers  crack 

But  when  they  turned  their  faces,  and  on  the  further  shore 

Saw  brave  Horatius  stand  alone,  they  would  have  crossed  once  more. 

But,  with  a  crash  like  thunder,  fell  every  loosened  beam, 
And,  like  a  dam,  tlie  mighty  wreck  lay  right  athwart  the  stream 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph  rose  from  the  walls  of  Rome. 
As  to  the  highest  turret-tops  was  splashed  the  yellow  foam. 

And,  like  a  horse  unbroken  when  first  he  feels  the  rein. 

The  farious  river  struggled  hard,  and  tossed  his  tawny  mane, 

And  burst  the  curb,  and  bounded,  rejoicing  to  be  free, 

And  battlement,  and  plank,  and  pier,  whirled  headlong  to  the  sea. 

Alone  stood  brave  Horatius,  but  constant  still  in  mind ; 
Thrice  thirty  thousand  foes  before,  and  the  broad  flood  behind. 
"  Down  with  him  !  "  cried  false  Scxtus,  with  a  smile  on  his  pale  face 
"  Now  yield  thee,"  cried  Lars  Porsena  "  now  yield  thee  to  oar  grace 

Bound  turned  he,  as  not  deigning  those  craven  ranks  to  see  ; 
Naught  spake  he  to  Lars  Porsena,  to  Sextus  naught  spake  he ; 
But  he  saw  on  Palatinus  the  white  porch  of  his  home, 
\nd  he  spake  to  the  noble  river  that  rolls  by  the  towers  of  B«me 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  ATTOtJN.  43fc 

0,  Tiber  !  father  Tiber  !  to  whom  the  Romans  pray, 
A.  Roman's  life,  a  Roman's  arms,  take  thou  in  charge  this  day  !  * 
3o  he  spake,  and,  speaking,  sheathed  the  good  sword  by  his  side, 
A.ad,  with  his  harness  on  his  back,  plunged  headlong  in  the  tide! 

No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow  was  heard  from  either  bank  ; 

But  friends  and  foes,  in  dumb  surprise,  stood  gazing  where  he  sank  • 

And  when  above  the  surges  they  saw  his  crest  appear, 

Rome  shouted,  and  e'en  Tuscany  could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

But  fiercely  ran  the  current,  swollen  high  by  months  of  rain  : 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing ;  and  he  was  sore  in  pain. 
And  heavy  w^'th  his  armor,  and  spent  with  changing  blows  : 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking,  —  but  still  again  he  rose. 

Never,  I  ween,  did  swimmer,  in  such  an  evil  case, 
Struggle  through  such  a  raging  flood  safe  to  the  landing-place : 
but  his  limbs  were  borne  up  bravely  by  the  brave  heart  within. 
And  our  good  father  Tiber  bare  bravely  up  his  chin. 

'Curse  on  him !  "  quoth  false  Sextus ;  "  will  not  the  villain  drown  ? 
tJut  tor  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day  we  should  have  sacked  the  town !  " 
Heaven  help  him  !  "  quoth  Lars  Porsena,  "  and  bring  him  safe  to 
shore ;  ^ 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms  was  never  seen  before." 

And  now  he  feels  the  bottom ;  —  now  on  dry  earth  he  stands  • 
^ow  round  him  throng  the  Fathers  to  press  his  gory  hands 
And  now,  with  shouts  and  clapping,  and  noise  of  weeping  loud. 
He  enters  through  the  River  Gate,  borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

27.    THE  EXECUTION  OF  MONTROSE,  1645.  -  Aytoun. 

Come  hither,  Evan  Cameron ;  come,  stand  beside  my  knee,  — 
I  hear  the  river  roaring  down  towards  the  wintry  sea 
There 's  shouting  on  the  mountain-side,  there 's  war  within  the  blast  • 
Uld  faces  look  upon  me,  —  old  forms  go  trooping  past. 
L  hear  the  pibroch  wailing  amidst  the  din  of  fight, 
And  my  dim  spirit  wakes  again,  upon  the  verge  of  nio-ht 


Twas  I  that  led  the  Highland  host  through  wild  Lochaber's  snowb 
What  time  the  plaided  clans  came  down  to  battle  with  Montrose 
L  ve  told  thee  how  the  Southrons  fell  beneath  the  broad  claymore 
And  how  we  smote  the  Campbell  clan  by  Inverlochy's  shore. 
I  ve  told  thee  how  we  swept  Dundee,  and  tamed  the  Lindsays'  pride 
But  never  have  I  told  thee  yet  how  the  Great  Marquis  died. 


436 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


A  traitor  sold  him  to  his  foes ;  —  0,  deed  of  deathless  shame  i 
I  charge  thee,  boy,  if  e'er  thou  meet  with  one  of  Assynt's  name^ 
Be  it  upon  the  mountain's  side,  or  yet  within  the  glen. 
Stand  he  in  martial  gear  alone,  or  backed  by  armed  mfen,  — 
Face  bim,  as  thou  wouldst  face  the  man  who  wronged  thy  dire'fi 
renown; 

Remember  of  what  blood  thou  art,  and  strike  the  caitiff  down . 

They  brought  him  to  the  Watergate,  hard  bound  with  hempen  span 

As  though°they  held  a  lion  there,  and  not  a  'fenceless  man. 

But  when  he  came,  though  pale  and  wan,  he  looked  so  great  and  higb 

So  noble  was  his  manly  front,  so  calm  his  steadfast  eye. 

The  rabble  rout  forbore  to  shout,  and  each  man  held  his  breath ; 

For  well  they  knew  the  hero's  soul  was  face  to  face  with  death. 

Had  I  been  there,  with  sword  in  hand,  and  fifty  Camerons  by, 
That  day,  through  high  Dunedin's  streets,  had  pealed  the  slogan-cry. 
Not  all  their  troops  of  trampling  horse,  nor  might  of  mailed  men, 
Not  all  the  rebels  in  the  South,  had  borne  us  backwards  then ! 
Once  more  his  foot  on  Highland  heath  had  trod  as  free  as  air, 
Or  I,  and  all  who  bore  my  name,  been  laid  around  him  there ! 

It  might  not  be.    They  placed  him  next  within  the  solemn  hall, 
Where  once  the  Scottish  kings  were  throned  amidst  their  nobles  all. 
But  there  was  dust  of  vulgar  feet  on  that  polluted  floor. 
And  perjured  traitors  filled  the  place  where  good  men  sate  before. 
With  savage  glee  came  Warriston,  to  read  the  murderous  doom ; 
And  then  uprose  the  great  Montrose  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Now,  by  my  faith  as  belted  knight,  and  by  the  name  I  bear, 
And  by  the  bright  Saint  Andrew's  cross  that  waves  above  us  there,  — 
Yea,  by  a  greater,  mightier  oath,  —  and  0,  that  such  should  be !  — 
By  that  dark  stream  of  royal  blood  that  lies  'twixt  you  and  me,  - 
I  have  not  sought  in  battle-field  a  wreath  of  such  renown, 
Nor  hoped  I  on  my  dying  day  to  win  the  martyr's  crown  ! 

"  There  is  a  chamber  far  away  where  sleep  the  good  and  brave, 
But  a  better  place  ye 've  named  for  me  than  by  my  fathers'  grave. 
For  truth  and  right,  'gainst  treason's  might,  this  hand  hath  always 
striven. 

And  ye  raise  it  up  for  a  witness  still  in  the  eye  of  earth  and  Heaveu 
Then  nail  my  head  on  yonder  tower,  —  give  every  town  a  limb, 
And  God  who  made  shall  gather  them  :  I  go  from  you  to  Him ! " 

The  morning  dawned  full  darkly  •  like  a  bridegroom  from  his  room, 
Came  the  hero  from  his  prison  to  the  scaffold  and  tlie  doom. 
There  was  glory  on  his  forehead,  there  was  lustre  in  hip  eye 
And  he  never  walked  to  battle  more  proudly  than  to  die  ; 
There  was  color  in  his  visage,  though  the  cheeks  of  all  were  wan, 
auid  they  marvelled  as  they  saw  him  pass,  that  great  and  goodly  mwi 


NJ  RRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  SHELLEY, 


437 


riien  radiant  and  serene  he  stood,  and  cast  his  cloak  away 

For  he  had  ta'en  his  latest  look  of  earth  and  sun  and  day. 

He  mounted  up  the  scaffold,  and  he  turned  him  to  the  crowd 

But  thej  dared  not  trust  the  people,  —  so  he  might  not  speak  aloud 

But  he  looked  upon  the  Heavens,  and  they  were  clear  and  blue, 

And  in  the  liquid  ether  the  eye  of  God  shone  through  : 

A  beam  of  light  fell  o'er  him,  like  a  glory  round  the  shriven, 
And  he  climbed  the  lofty  ladder  as  it  were  the  path  to  Heaven. 
Then  came  a  flash  from  out  the  cloud,  and  a  stunning  thunder-roll , 
And  no  man  dared  to  look  aloft ;  fear  was  on  every  soul. 
There  was  another  heavy  sound,  —  a  hu^h,  and  then  a  groan , 
Aad  darkness  swept  across  the  sky,  —  the  work  of  death  was  done 


28.  PEACE  AND  WAR.  —  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.   Born,  1792  ;  died,  1822. 

How  beautiftil  this  night !  the  balmiest  sigh 
Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear 
Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 
That  wraps  this  moveless  scene.    Heaven's  ebon  vault 
Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 
Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur  rolls, 
Seems  like  a  canopy  which  love  has  spread 
Above  the  sleeping  world.    Yon  gentle  hills, 
Robed  in  a  garment  of  untrodden  snow  ; 
Yon  darksome  rocks,  whence  icicles  depend, 
So  stainless  that  their  white  and  glittering  spires 
Tinge  not  the  moon's  pure  beam ;  yon  castled  steep, 
Whose  banner  hangeth  o'er  the  time-worn  tower 
So  idly  that  rapt  fancy  deemeth  it 
A  metaphor  of  peace  ;  —  all  form  a  scene 
Where  musing  solitude  might  love  to  lift 
Her  soul  above  this  sphere  of  earthliness  ; 
Where  silence  undisturbed  might  watch  jJone, 
.  So  cold,  so  bright,  so  still : 

Ah  !  whence  yon  glare 
That  fires  the  arch  of  Heaven  ?  —  that  dark  red  smoke 
Blotting  the  silver  moon  ?    The  stars  are  quenched 
In  darkness,  and  the  pure  and  spangling  snow 
Gleams  faintly  through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round 
Hark  to  that  roar,  whose  swift  and  deafening  peab 
In  countless  echoes  through  the  mountains  ring, 
Startling  pale  midnight  on  her  starry  throne ! 
Now  swells  the  intermingling  din  ;  the  jar, 
Frequent  and  frightful,  of  the  bursting  bomb ; 
The  falling  beam,  the  shriek,  the  groan,  the  shoui; 
The  ceaseless  clangor,  and  the  rush  of  men 


THE  STANLaRD  speaker. 


Inebriate  with  rage  !  —  Loud  and  more  loud 
The  discord  grows  ;  till  pale  Death  shuts  the  scene 
And  o'er  the  conqueror  and  the  conquered  draws 
Eis  coi4  and  bloody  shroud  ! 

The  sulphurous  smoke 
Before  the  icy  wind  slow  rolls  away, 
And  the  bright  beams  of  frosty  morning  dance 
Along  the  spangling  snow.    There  tracks  of  blood, 
Even  to  the  forest's  depth,  and  scattered  arms, 
And  lifeless  warriors,  whose  hard  lineaments 
Death's  self  could  change  not,  mark  the  dreadful  path 
Of  the'  out-sallying  victors  :  far  behind 
Black  ashes  note  where  their  proud  city  stood. 
Within  yon  forest  is  a  gloomy  glen  ;  — 
Each  tree  which  guards  its  darkness  from  the  day 
Waves  o'er  a  warrior's  tomb  ! 


IHERICA  TO  GREAT  BmiAlN.  — Washington  Allston.    Born,  1779;  Uti,  l%fSk 

All  hail !  thou  noble  land. 
Our  fathers'  native  soil  I 
0,  stretch  thy  mighty  hand, 
Gigantic  grown  by  toil. 
O'er  the  vast  Atlantic  wave  to  our  shore 
For  thou,  with  magic  might. 
Canst  reach  to  where  the  light 
Of  Phcsbus  travels  bright, 
The  world  o'er ! 

The  Genius  of  our  clime. 

From  his  pine-embattled  steep, 
Shall  hail  the  great  sublime  ; 
While  the  Tritons  of  the  deep 
With  their  conchs  the  kindred  league  shall  proclaim. 
Then  let  the  world  combine  !  — 
O'er  the  main  our  naval  line, 
Like  the  milky  way,  shall  shine 
Bright  in  fame  ! 

Though  ages  long  have  passed 

Since  our  fathers  left  their  home, 
Their  pilot  in  the  blast, 

O'er  untravelled  seas  to  roam,  — • 
f  et  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veina  > 
And  shall  wc  not  proclaim 
That  blood  of  honest  fame, 
Which  no  tyranny  can  tame 
By  its  chains  ? 


SARRATIVE  AND  LYlvICAL.  —  BYROxV. 


43d 


While  the  language,  free  and  bold, 
Which  the  bard  of  Avon  sung, 
In  Y/hich  our  Milton  told 

How  the  vault  of  Heaven  rung, 
When  Satan,  blasted,  fell  with  all  his  host ;  -~ 
While  this,  with  reverence  meet, 
Ten  thousand  echoes  greet, 
From  rock  to  rock  repeat 
Round  our  coast ;  — 

While  the  manners,  while  the  arts 

That  mould  a  Nation's  soul. 
Still  cling  around  our  hearts,  — 
Between  let  ocean  roll. 
Our  joint  communion  breaking  with  the  sun  : 
Yet,  still,  from  either  beach, 
The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach, 
More  audible  than  speech, 
"  We  are  One  !  " 


30.  OLD  IRONSIDES.- OZzt;er  fFendell  Holmes. 
JeS^^Zr^^::^t  Z^S^^  "^^^^^  ^^-^^-^^  constitution,  or  to  convert  her  into  . 

Ay,^  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  !   Long  has  it  waved  on  high 
Ana  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see  that  banner  in  the  sky ;  _ 
Beneath  it  rang  the  battle-shout,  and  burst  the  cannon's  roar ; 
Ihe  meteor  of  the  ocean  air  shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more  ! 

^^foe  ^^^^        ^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^  vanquished 

When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood,  and  waves  were  white 
below. 

No  more  shall  feel  the  >^ctor  s  tread,  or  know  the  conquered  knee  : 
ihe  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck  the  eagle  of  the  sea  ' 

0,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk  should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ' 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep,  and  there  should  be  her  grave  ' 
Wail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag,  set  every  threadbare  sail. 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms,  —  the  lightning  and  the  gale  ! 
 ♦  

«    THE  BALL  AT  BRUSSELS,  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE  OF  WATEl 
LOO,  Junk  17, 1815  Lord  Byron.  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men . 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily  ;  and  whe© 


THE  STAJ^DARD  SPEAKER. 


Music  arose,  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 

Soft  eyes  looked,  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 

And  iill  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell. 
But  hush  !  hark  !  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knel 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?  —  No ;  't  was  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street. 

On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  unconfined  , 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

To  chase  tlie  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet ! 

But  hark !  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat ; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier,  than  before  ! 
Arm  !  arm  !  it  is  —  it  is  —  the  cannon'^  opening  roar  ! 

Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall 
Sat  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain.    He  did  hear 
That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 
And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear ; 
And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deemed  it  near, 
His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well. 
Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier. 
And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell. 
9e  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell. 

Ah.!  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress, 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness  ; 
And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  life  from  out  young  hearts,  and  choking  sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated.    Who  could  guesf* 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes. 
Since  upon  night  so  sweet  such  awful  morn  could  rise 

An  1  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  ^lar  ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star , 
While  thronged  the  citizens,  with  terror  dumb. 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips  —  "  The  foe '    The-y  pome  Th«y 
come ! 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life ; 
Last  eve,  in  Beauty's  circle,  proudly  gay  ; 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife 
The  morn,  the  marshalling  in  arms  ;  the  day, 
Battle  s  ni'igiiificently  stern  array  ! 


NARRATITE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  BYRON.  44^ 

^le  thimder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 
Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover  —  heaped  and  pent. 
Kider  and  horse,  -  friend,  —  foe,  -  in  one  red  buriaJ  blent 


32.   THE  DYING  GLADIATOR.  -  Lord  Byron, 

I  SEE  before  me  the  GLidiator  lie  : 

He  leans  upon  his  hand,  —  his  manly  brow 

Consents  to  death  but  conquers  ao-ony 

And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low,— 

And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 

From  the  red  gash,  fail  heavy,  one  by  one. 

Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower  ;  and  now 

Ihe  arena  swims  around  him  — he  is  gone. 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hailtd  the  wretch  who  woi. 
He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not ;  his  eyes 
^ere  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away : 
He  recked  not  of  the  life  he  lost  nor  prize 
^ut  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay, 
Ihere  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 
JTiere  was  their.Dacian  mother,  -  he,  their  sire, 
liutchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday,  — 
All  this  rushed  with  his  blood.  —  Shall  he  expire 
And  unavenged  ?  _  Arise,  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your  ire 


33.    DEGENERACY  OP  GREECE.  -  Lord  Bijron 

The  Isles  of  Greece,  the  Isles  of  Greece  ! 
Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung, 

wf  ^""^"^       ^""^^  ^^^''^i'  and  peace, 
Where  Delos  rose,  and  Phoebus  sprung ' 

internal  summer  gilds  them  yet. 

But  all,  except  their  sun,  is  set. 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea  ; 

And,  musing  there  an  hour  alone,  ' 

I  dreamed  that  Greece  might  still  be  free 

tor,  standing  on  the  Persian's  grave 

1  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 

A  King  sat  on  the  rocky  brow 

Which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis, 

And  ships,  by  thousands,  lay  below 
And  men  and  Nations  —  all  were  nis 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day  — 

And  when  th-j  sun  set.  where  were  theyt 


TUB  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


And  where  are  they?  and  where  art  thou. 
My  country  ?    On  thy  voiceless  shore 

The  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now  — 
The  heroic  bosom  beats  no  more ' 

And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine, 

Degenerate  into  hands  like  mine  ? 

You  have  the  Pyrrhic  dance  as  yet  ; 

Where  is  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  gone  ? 
Of  two  such  lessons,  why  forget 

The  nobler  and  the  manlier  one  ? 
You  have  the  letters  Cadmus  gave  — 
Think  ye  he  meant  them  for  a^  slave  ? 
'T  is  something,  in  the  dearth  of  fame, 

Though  linked  among  a  fettered  race, 
To  feel,  at  least,  a  patriot's  shame, 

Even  as  I  sing,  suifuse  my  face  ; 
For  what  is  left  the  poet  here  ? 
For  Grreeks,  a  blush,  —  for  Grreece,  a  tear ! 

Must  we  but  weep  o'er  days  more  blest  ? 

Must  we  but  blush  ?  —  Our  fathers  bled 
Earth !  render  back  from  out  thy  breast 

A  remnant  of  our  Spartan  dead  ! 
Of  the  tkree  hundred  grant  but  three, 
To  make  a  new  Thermopylse  ! 

What !  silent  still  ?  and  silent  all  ? 

Ah  !  no  :  —  the  voices  of  the  dead 
Sound  like  a  distant  torrent's  fall, 

And  answer,  "  Let  one  living  head, 
But  one  arise,  —  we  come,  we  come  !  " 
'T  is  but  the  living  who  are  dumb. 


34.    THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB. —Lord  Byron 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold. 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold ; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Summer  is  green, 
That  host,  with  their  banners,  at  sunset  were  seen ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host,  on  the  morrow,  lay  withered  and  strewn. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed  ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and  chili, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever  grew  still  f 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  —  LiTONS. 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostrils  all  wide, 
But  through  thon  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  kb  pride- 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 
And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 
With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on  his  mail , 
And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone. 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpets  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal  ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord 


36.   THE  TEMPEST  STILLED.  J.  Gilborne  Lyom 

The  strong  winds  burst  on  Judah's  sea. 

Far  pealed  the  raging  billow. 
The  fires  of  Heaven  flashed  wrathfuUj, 

When  Jesus  pressed  his  pillow ; 
The  light  frail  bark  was  fiercely  tossed, 

From  surge  to  dark  surge  leaping. 
Foresails  were  torn  and  oars  were  lost, 

Yet  Jesus  still  lay  sleeping. 

When  o'er  that  bark  the  loud  waves  roared, 

And  blasts  went  howling  round  her, 
Those  Hebrews  roused  their  wearied  Lord,  — 

"  Lord  !  help  us,  or  we  founder  ! " 
He  said,  "  Ye  waters,  Peace,  be  still ! 

The  chafed  waves  sank  reposing, 
As  wild  herds  rest  on  field  and  hill, 

When  clear  calm  days  are  closing. 
And  turning  to  the  startled  men, 

Who  watched  the  surge  subsiding. 
He  spake  in  mournful  accents,  then, 

These  words  of  righteous  chiding ; 
"  0  ye,  who  thus  fear  wreck  and  death, 

As  if  by  Heaven  forsaken, 
How  is  it  that  ye  have  no  faith. 

Or  faith  so  quickly  shaken  ?  " 

Then,  then,  those  doubters  saw  with  dread 

The  wondrous  scene  before  them  ; 
Their  limbs  waxed  faint,  their  boldness  fled. 

Strange  awe  stole  creeping  o'er  them  .  — 
"  This,  this,"  they  said,  "  is  Judah's  Lord, 

For  powers  divine  array  him ; 
Behold  !    He  does  but  speak  the  word 

A-nd  winds  ind  waves  obey  him  I  " 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKKR. 
86.    EXCELSIOR.  —H.  W.  Longfellow. 

The  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast. 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore,  'mid  snow  and  lo© 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
Excelsior ! 

His  brow  was  sad  ;  his  eye  beneath 
Flashed  like  a  falchion  from  its  sheath 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue, 
Excelsior ' 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 
Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  brigh 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  shone  ; 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan, 
Excelsior  ! 

*'  Try  not  the  Pass  !  "  the  old  man  said 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead  ; 
The  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide !  ' 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  replied, 
Excelsior  ! 

0,  stay,"  the  maiden  said  "  and  rest 
Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast !  " 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye ; 
But  s'!!-  he  answered,  with  a  sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

"  Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch  \ 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche  !  " 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  Good-night* 
A  voice  replied,  far  up  the  height. 
Excelsior ! 

At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 
Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried,  through  the  startled  aii 
Excelsior ' 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound. 
Half-buried  in  the  snow  was  found 
Still  grasping,  in  his  hand  of  ice. 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device, 
Excelsior ! 

There,  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray, 
liifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay ; 


JfAERATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  CAMPBELL. 

And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  like  a  falling  star, 
Excelsior ! 


37.   TO  THE  B,AmBOW.  — Thomas  Campbell 

Triumphal  arch,  that  fiU'st  the  sky 
When  storms  prepare  to  part, 

I  ask  not  proud  philosophy 

To  teach  me  what  thou  art :  — 

Still  seem,  as  to  my  childhood's  sight, 

A  midway  station  given. 
For  happy  spirits  to  alight. 

Betwixt  the  earth  and  Heaven. 

Can  all  that  optics  teach  unfold 

Thy  form  to  please  me  so. 
As  when  I  dreamt  of  gems  and  gold 

Hid  in  thy  radiant  bow  ? 

When  Science  from  Creation's  face 
Enchantment's  veil  withdraws. 

What  lovely  visions  yield  their  place 
To  cold  material  laws  ! 

And  yet,  fair  bow,  no  fabling  dreams, 
But  words  of  the  Most  High, 

Have  told  why  first  thy  robe  of  beams 
Was  woven  in  the  sky. 

VVTien,  o'er  the  green,  undeluged  earth, 
Heaven's  covenant  thou  didst  shine, 

How  came  the  world's  gray  fathers  for^ 
To  watch  thy  sacred  sign ! 

And  when  its  yellow  lustre  smiled 

O'er  mountains  yet  untrod. 
Each  mother  held  aloft  her  child 

To  bless  the  bow  of  God. 

Methinks,  thy  jubilee  to  keep, 

The  first-made  anthem  rang 
On  earth  delivered  from  the  deep, 

And  the  first  poet  sang , 

Nor  ever  shall  the  Mase's  eye 
Unraptured  greet  thy  beam , 

Theme  of  primeval  prophecy. 
Be  still  the  poet's  thera© ! 


THE  STANI/ARD  SPEAKEtt. 


The  earth  to  thee  her  incense  yields, 
The  lark  thy  welcome  sings, 

When,  glittering  in  the  freshened  fieldf 
The  snowy  mushroom  springs. 

How  glorious  is  thy  girdle  cast 
O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town 

Or  mirrored  in  the  ocean  vast. 
A  thousand  fathoms  down  ! 

As  fresh  in  yon  horizon  dark. 
As  young,  thy  beauties  seem, 

As  when  the  eagle  from  the  ark 
First  sported  in  thy  beam. 

For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  page, 
Heaven  still  rebuilds  thy  span 

Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age 
That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 


38.   GLEN AR  A.  —  Thomas  Campb  ell. 

O  !  HEARD  you  yon  pibroch  sound  sad  in  the  gale, 
Where  a  band  cometh  slowly,  with  weeping  and  wail  ? 
'T  is  the  chief  of  Glenara  laments  for  his  dear  ; 
And  her  sire  and  her  people  are  called  to  her  bier. 

Grlenara  came  first,  with  the  mourners  and  shroud  , 
Her  kinsmen  they  followed,  but  mourned  not  aloud ; 
Their  plaids  all  their  bosoms  were  folded  around  ; 
They  marched  all  in  silence,  —  they  loaked  to  the  ground 

In  silence  they  passed  over  mountain  and  moor. 
To  a  heath  where  the  oak-tree  grew  lonely  and  hoar  : 
"  Now  here  let  us  place  the  gray-stone  of  her  cairn ;  — 
Why  speak  ye  no  word  ?  "  said  Glenara  the  stern. 

"  And  tell  me,  I  charge  you,  ye  clan  of  my  spouse, 
Why  fold  ye  your  mantles,  why  cloud  ye  your  brows  ? ' 
So  spake  the  rude  chieftain  :  no  answer,.. is  made, 
But  each  mantle,  unfolding,  a  dagger  displayed. 

"  I  dreamed  of  my  lady,  I  dreamed  of  her  shroud," 
Cried  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen,  all  wrathful  and  loud  ; 
"  And  empty  that  shroud  and  that  coffin  did  seem : 
Glenara  !  Glenara !  now  read  me  my  dream  !  " 

O  !  pale  grew  the  cheek  of  that  chieftain,  I  ween. 
When  the  shroud  was  unclosed,  and  no  body  was  seen 
Then  a  voice  from  the  kinsmen  spoke  louder  in  scorn  -  - 
T  wiis  the  youth  that  had  loved  the  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn 


NARRATIVE   AND  LYRICAL.  SHEA. 


I  dreamed  of  my  ladj,  I  dreamed  of  her  grief, 
I  dreamed  that  her  lord  was  a  barbarous  chief; 
On  the  rock  of  the  ocean  fair  Ellen  did  seem  ; 
Glenara  !  Glenara !  now  read  me  my  dream  !  " 

In  dust  low  the  traitor  has  knelt  to  the  ground, 
And  the  desert  revealed  where  his  lady  was  found  i 
From  a  rock  of  the  ocean  that  beauty  is  borne  ' 
Now  joy  to  the  House  of  fair  Ellen  of  Lorn  ' 


39.  THE  O'KAVANAGIL— J.^.  Shea. 

The  Saxons  had  met,  and  the  banquet  was  spread, 
And  the  wine  in  fleet  circles  the  jubilee  led; 
And  the  banners  that  hung  round  the  festal  that  ni^ht 
Seemed  brighter  by  far  than  when  lifted  in  fight. 

In  came  the  O'Kavanagh,  fair  as  the  morn, 

When  earth  to  new  beauty  and  vigor  is  born ; 

They  shrank  from  his  glance  like  the  waves  from  the  prow 

For  nature's  nobility  sat  on  his  brow.  ' 

Attended  alone  by  his  vassal  and  bard,  

No  trumpet  to  herald,  no  clansmen  to  guard,  

He  came  not  attended  by  steed  or  by  steel  : 
No  danger  he  knew,  for  no  fear  did  he  feel 

In  eye,  and  on  lip,  his  high  confidence  smiled.  — 
So  proud,  yet  so  knightly  —  so  gallant,  yet  mild ; 
He  moved  like  a  god  through  the  light  of  that  hall, 
And  a  smile,  full  of  courtliness,  profiered  to  all. 

"Come  pledge  us,  lord  chieftain !  come  pledge  us !  "  they  cried 
Unsuspectnigly  free  to  the  pledge  he  replied ; 

And  this  was  the  peace-branch  O'Kavanagh  bore,  

"The  friendships  to  come,  not  the  feuds  that  are 'o'er  !  " 
But,  minstrel,  why  cometh  a  change  o'er  thy  theme  ? 
Why  sing  of  red  battle  —  what  dream  dost  thoiu  dream  ? 
Ha  !  "  Treason  !  " 's  the  cry,  and  "  Eevenge !  "  is  the  caU, 
As  the  swords  of  the  Saxons  surrounded  the  hall ' 

A  kingdom  for  Angelo's  mind,  to  portray 

Green  Erin's  undaunted  avenger  that  day ; 

The  far-flashing  sword,  and  the  death-darting  eye, 

Like  some  comet  commissioned  with  wrath  from  the  sh  j 

Through  the  ranks  of  the  Saxon  he  hewed  his  red  way,  - 
Through  lances,  and  sabres,  and  hostile  array  • 
And,  mounting  his  charger,  he  left  them  to  tell 
IV  tale  of  that  feast,  and  its  bloody  farewell 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


And  now  on  the  Saxons  Ws  clansmen  advance, 
With  a  shout  from  each  heart,  and  a  soul  in  eacn  knot 
He  rushed,  like  a  storm,  o'er  the  night-covered  heath 
And  swept  through  their  ranks  like  the  angel  of  deatli 

Then  hurrah !  for  thy  glory,  young  chieftain,  hurrah  I 
0  !  had  we  such  lightning-souled  heroes  to-day, 
Again  would  our  "  sunburst "  expand  in  the  galo 
And  Freedom  exult  o'er  the  green  Innisfail  I 


40.  ODE  ON  THE  PASSIONS.  —  William  Collim 

When  Music,  Raavenly  maid,  was  youngj 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell. 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell ; 
Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting 
Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting, 
By  turns,  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined  : 
Tni  once,  't  is  said,  when  all  were  fired, 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired, 
.  From  the  supportuig  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound  j 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art. 
Each  —  for  Madness  ruled  the  hour  — 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First,  Fear  his  hand,  its  sicill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid ; 

And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 
Even  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 

Next,  Anger  rushed,  his  eyes  on  fire, 
In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings : 

In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept,  with  hurried  hands,  the  strings. 

With  woful  measures,  wan  Despair  — 
Low  sullen  sounds  !  —  his  grief  beguilod 

A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air ; 

*T  was  sad,  by  fits,  —  by  starts,  't  was  wild 

But  thou,  0  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure,^ 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail ! 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong; 
And,  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale. 


NARRATIVE  AND  L^KICAL.  —  OULLINS.  44S 

She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song ; 
And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  everj  close  ; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 

And  longer  had  she  sung  —  but,  with  a  frown, 

Revenge  impatient  rose. 
He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down; 

And,  with  a  withering  look. 

The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took. 
And  blew  a  blast,  so  loud  and  dread. 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe; 

And,  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat. 
Aad  though,  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between. 

Dejected  Pity,  at  his  side. 

Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied. 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unaltered  mien  ; 
While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting  from  his  boad 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  naught  were  fixed; 

Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state ! 
Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed : 

And  now  it  courted  Love  —  now,  raving,  called  on  Hate. 

With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 

Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired ; 

And,  from  her  wild  sequestered  seat, 

In  notes,  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 
Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul  ; 
And,  dashiBg  soft,  from  rocks  around, 
Bubbling  mrmels  joined  the  sound  ; 
'Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  stole : 
Ur  oer  some  haunted  streams,  with  fond  delay  — 

Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing. 

Love  of  peace  and  lonely  musing  

In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 

^^^^rP  '        ^^^"^'^^^  sprightly  tone, 

When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  ol"  healthiest  hue, 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung. 
Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew 

Blew  an  inspiri^ig  air,  that  dale  and  tuicket  rung. 
Ihe  .hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  knoivn ! 

The  oak-crowned  sisters,  and  their  chaste-eyed  (jqeeii 
Satyrs,  and  sylvan  bovs,  were  seen, 
Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green; 
Brown  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear ; 
And  Sport  leaped  up,  and  seized  his  beechen  ^w%f 
29 


IHE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Last  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial : 
He,  with  viny  crown,  advancing. 
First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed  ; 

But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awakening  viol. 
Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best. 
The}  ^ould  have  thought,  who  heard  the  strain 
They  saw,  in  Tempe's  vale,  her  native  maids, 

Amid  the  festal  sounding  shades. 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing ; 
While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings, 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round  — 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound ; 
And  he,  amid  his  frolic  play. 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thousand  odors  from  his  dewy  wings. 


41.  THE  GREEK  AND  TURKMAN.  —  iZeu.  George  Cro^y. 

fiaurMloD  of  a  night  attack,  by  Gonstantine  Palseologus,  on  a  detached  camp  of 
med  II.,  dui-ing  the  siege  of  Constantinople. 

The  Turkman  lay  beside  the  river  ; 

The  wind  played  loose  through  bow  and  quiver , 

The  charger  on  the  bank  fed  free, 

The  shield  hung  glittering  from  the  tree, 

The  trumpet,  shawn,  and  atabal, 

Lay  screened  from  dew  by  cloak  and  pall, 

For  long  and  weary  was  the  way 

The  hordes  had  marched  that  burning  day. 

Above  them,  on  the  sky  of  J une, 
Broad  as  a  buckler  glowed  the  moonj 
Flooding  with  glory  vale  and  hill. 
In  silver  sprang  the  mountain  rill ; 
The  weeping  shrub  in  silver  bent ; 
A  pile  of  silver  stood  the  tent ; 
All  soundless,  sweet  tranquillity  ; 
All  beauty,—  hill,  brook,  tent,  and  tree. 

There  came  a  sound  —  't  was  like  the  gush 
When  night- winds  shake  the  rose's  bush ! 
There  came  a  sound  —  't  was  like  the  tread 
Of  wolves  along  the  valley's  bed ! 
There  came  a  sound  —  't  was  like  the  flow 
Of  rivers  swoln  with  melting  snow ! 
There  came  a  sound  —  't  was  like  the  roar 
Of  Ocean  on  its  winter  shore ! 

"Death  to  the  Turk!  "  up  rose  the  yeJl-^ 
On  rolled  the  charge?  —  a  thunder  peal 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  KNOX. 

The  Tartar  arrows  fell  like  rain,  — 
They  clanked  on  helm,  and  mail,  and  chain : 
In  blood,  in  hate,  in  death,  were  twined 
Savage  and  Greek,  —  mad,  —  bleeding,  —  blind, 
And  still,  on  flank,  and  front,  and  rear, 
liaged,  Constantino,  thy  thirsting  spear] 

Brassy  and  pale,  —  a  type  of  doom,  — 
Labored  the  moon  through  deepening  gloom. 
Down  plunged  her  orb  —  't  was  pitchy  night » 
Now,  Turkman,  turn  thy  reins  for  flight ! 
On  rushed  their  thousands  in  the  dark  ! 
But  in  their  camp  a  ruddy  spark 
Like  an  uncertain  meteor  reeled,  — 
Thy  hand,  brave  king,  that  fire-brand  wheeled ! 

Wild  burst  the  burning  element 
O'er  man  and  courser,  flood  and  tent !  ' 
And  through  the  blaze  the  Greeks  outsprang, 
Like  tigers,  —  bloody,  foot  and  fang !  — 
With  dagger-stab,  and  falchion-sweep. 
Delving  the  stunned  and  staggering  heap, 
Till  lay  the  slave  by  chief  and  khan, 
And  all  was  gone  that  once  was  man  ! 

There 's  wailing  on  the  Euxine  shore  — 
Her  chivalry  shall  ride  no  more ! 
There 's  wailing  on  thy  hills,  Altai, 
For  chiefs  the  Grecian  vulture's  prey  ! 
But,  Bosphorus,  thy  silver  wave 
Hears  shouts  for  the  returning  brave ; 
For,  kingliest  of  a  kingly  line, 
Lo  !  there  comes  glorious  Constantine  ! 


42.  THE  CURSE  OF  CAm.- Knox. 

O,  THE  wrath  of  the  Lord  is  a  terrible  thing !  — 
Like  the  tempest  that  withers  the  blossoms  of  spring 
Like  the  thunder  that  bursts  on  the  summer's  domam, 
It  fell  on  the  head  of  the  homicide  Cain. 
And,  lo !  like  a  deer  in  the  fright  of  the  chase, 
With  a  fire  in  his  heart,  and  a  brand  on  his  face, 

He  speeds  him  afar  to  the  desert  of  Nod,  

A  vagabond,  smote  by  the  vengeance  of  God  ! 
All  nature,  to  him,  has  beec  blasted  and  banned, 
And  the  blood  of  a  brother  yet  reeks  on  his  hand  ; 
And  no  vintage  has  grown,  and  no  fountain  has  spran/r. 
tor  cheering  his  heart,  or  for  cooling  his  tongue. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


The  groans  of  a  father  his  slumber  shall  start, 
And  the  tears  of  a  mother  shall  pierce  to  his  heart, 
And  the  kiss  of  his  children  shall  scorch  him  like  flamej 
When  he  thinks  of  the  curse  that  hangs  over  his  name. 
,  And  the  wife  of  his  bosom  —  the  faithful  and  fair  — 
Can  mix  no  sweet  drop  in  his  cup  of  despair ; 
For  her  tender  caress,  and  her  innocent  breath, 
But  stir  in  his  soul  the  hot  embers  of  death. 
And  his  offering  may  blaze  unregarded  by  Heaven  • 
And  his  spirit  may  pray,  yet  remain  unforgiven ; 
And  his  grave  may  be  closed,  yet  no  rest  to  him  bring ;  ' 
O,  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  is  a  terrible  thmg ! 


43.  AMERICA,  1750.  -Bishop  Berkeley.   Born,  1684  ;  died,  11^. 

The  Muse,  disgusted  at  an  age  and  clime 

Barren  of  every  glorious  theme, 
In  distant  lands  now  waits  a  better  time, 

Producing  subjects  worthy  fame. 

In  happy  climes,  where  from  the  genial  sun, 

And  virgin  earth,  such  scenes  ensue. 
The  force  of  art  by  nature  seems  outdone, 

And  fancied  beauties  by  the  true : 
In  happy  climes,  the  seat  of  innocence, 

Where  Nature  guides,  and  Virtue  rules,  — 
Where  men  shall  not  impose,  for  truth  and  sense 

The  pedantry  of  courts  and  schools : 

There  shall  be  sung  another  golden  age, 

The  rise  of  empire  and  of  arts. 
The  good  and  great  inspiring  epic  rage, 

The  wisest  heads  and  noblest  hearts. 

Not  such  as  Europe  breeds  in  her  decay,  — 

Such  as  she  bred  when  fresh  and  young. 
When  heavenly  flame  did  animate  her  clay,  — 

By  future  poets  shall  be  sung. 
Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way 

The  four  first  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day ; 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last. 

44  THE  WORLD  FOR  SALE.  -  -  Rev.  Ralph  Hoyt. 

The  world  for  sale !   Hang  out  the  sign 

Call  every  traveller  here  to  me ; 
Who  '11  buy  this  brave  estate  of  mine. 

And  set  this  weary  spirit  free  ' 


NARP*ATIVE  AND  LYRICAL.  ^ — HOYT. 

T  is  going !  yes,  I  mean  to  fling 

The  bauble  from  my  soul  away 
I  '11  sell  it,  whatsoe'er  it  bring  : 

The  world  at  auction  here,  to-day ' 

It  is  a  glorious  sight  to  see,  — 

But,  ah  !  it  has  deceived  me  sore 
^i"  18  not  what  it  seems  to  be. 

For  sale  !  it  shall  be  mine  no  more. 
Come,  turn  it  o'er  and  view  it  well ; 

I  would  not  have  you  purchase  dear. 
'T  is  going  !  going  !  I  must  sell ! 

Who  bids  ?  who  '11  buy  the  splendid  tear  t 

Here 's  wealth,  in  glittering  heaps  of  gold ; 

Who  bids  ?    But  let  me  tell  you  fair, 
A  baser  lot  was  never  sold  ! 

Who  '11  buy  the  heavy  heaps  of  care  ' 
And,  here,  spread  out  in  broad  domain, 

A  goodly  landscape  all  may  trace. 
Hall,  cottage,  tree,  field,  hill  and  plain  ;  — 

Who  '11  buy  himself  a  burial  place  ? 

Here 's  Love,  the  dreamy  potent  spell 

That  Beauty  flings  around  the  heart ; 
I  know  its  power,  alas  !  too  well ; 

'T  is  going  !    Love  and  I  must  part ! 
Must  part  ?    What  can  I  more  with  Lore^ 

All  over 's  the  enchanter's  reign. 
Who  '11  buy  the  plumeless,  dying  dove,  — 

A  breath  of  bliss,  a  storm  of  pain  ? 

Aiid,  Friendship.,  rarest  gem  of  earth ; 

Who  e'er  hath  found  the  jewel  his  ? 
Frail,  fickle,  false  and  little  worth. 

Who  bids  for  Friendship  —  as  it  is  ? 
'Tis  going  !  going  !  hear  the  call ; 

Once,  twice  and  thrice,  't  is  very  low  ' 
T  was  once  my  hope,  my  stay,  my  all. 

But  now  the  broken  staff"  must  go  ! 

Fame  !  hold  the  brilliant  meteor  high , 

How  dazzling  every  gilded  name  ' 
Ye  millions  !  now 's  the  time  to  buy. 

How  much  for  Fame  ?  how  much  for  l^wne  ? 
Hear  how  it  thunders  !    Would  you  stand 

On  high  Olympus,  far  renowned, 
Now  purchase,  and  a  world  command  .  — 

And  be  with  a  world's  curses  crowned- 
Sweet  star  of  Hope  !  with  ray  to  sKine 

In  evory  sad  foreboding  breast 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Save  this  desponding  one  of  mine,  — 

Who  bids  lor  man's  last  friend,  and  beet  ? 

Ah,  were  not  mine  a  bankrupt  life. 
This  treasure  should  my  soul  sustain? 

But  Hope  and  Care  are  now  at  strife, 
Nor  ever  may  unite  again. 

Ambition,  fashion,  show  and  pride, 

I  part  from  all  forever  now ; 
Grief,  in  an  overwhelming  tide. 

Has  taught  my  haughty  heart  to  bow. 
By  Death,  stern  sheriff !  all  bereft, 

I  weep,  yet  humbly  kiss  the  rod  ; 
The  best  of  all  I  still  have  left,  — 

My  Faith,  my  Bible,  and  my  God  ! 


ON  rilE  DEATH  OF  GENERAL  TAYLOR.  —  Robert  T.  Ce»»ir«tf.  • 

Weep  not  for  him !    The  Thracians  wisely  gave 
Tears  to  the  birth-couch,  triumph  to  the  grave. 
Weep  not  for  him  !    Go,  mark  his  high  career ; 
It  knew  no  shame,  no  folly,  and  no  fear. 
Nurtured  to  peril,  lo  !  the  peril  came. 
To  lead  him  on,  from  field  to  field,  to  fame. 
Weep  not  for  him  whose  lustrous  life  has  known 
No  field  of  fame  he  has  not  made  his  own  ! 

In  many  a  fainting  clime,  in  many  a  war, 
Still  bright-browed  Victory  drew  the  patriot's  car. 
Whether  he  met  the  dusk  and  prowling  foe 
By  oceanic  Mississippi's  flow ; 

Or  where  the  Southern  swamps,  with  steamy  br^aaih. 
Smite  the  worn  warrior  with  no  warrior's  death  I 
Or  where,  like  surges  on  the  roUing  main, 
Squadron  on  squadron  sweep  the  prairie  plain,  — 
Dawn  —  and  the  field  the  haughty  foe  o'erspread 
Sunset  —  and  Bio  Grande's  waves  ran  red ! 
Or  where,  from  rock-ribbed  safety,  Monterey 
Frowns  death,  and  dares  him  to  the  unequal  fray ; 
Till  crashing  walls  and  slippery  streets  bespeak 
How  Trail  the  fortress  where  the  heart  is  weak- 
How  vainly  numbers  menace,  rocks  defy. 
Men  sternly  knit,  and  firm  to  do  or  die  ;  — 
Or  where  on  thousands  thousands  crowding  rusb 
(Borne  knew  not  such  a  day)  his  ranks  to  crush, 
The  long  day  paused  on  Buena  Vista's  height, 
Above  the  cloud  with  flashing  volleys  bright^ 
Till  angry  Freedom,  hovering  o'er  the  fray 
Swooped  down,  and  made  a  new  Thermopylae ; 


NAJxAATIVE  AND  LYEICAL.   UHLAND 


In  every  scene  of  peril  and  of  pain, 

His  were  the  toils,  his  country's  was  the  gain. 

From  field  to  field  —  and  all  were  nobly  woa  

He  bore,  with  eagle  flight,  her  standard  on; 
New  stars  rose  there  —  but  never  star  grew  dim 
While  in  Ms  patriot  grasp.    Weep  not  for  him 

His  was  a  spirit  simple,  grand  and  pure 
G"cat  to  conceive,  to  do,  and  to  endure  ; 
Yet  tne  rough  warrior  was,  in  heart,  a  child, 
Kich  in  love's  affluence,  merciful  and  mild. 
His  sterner  traits,  majestic  and  antique, 
Rivalled  the  stoic  Koman  or  the  Greek ; 
Excelling  both,  he  adds  the  Christian  name, 
And  Christian  virtues  make  it  more  than  fame. 

To  country,  youth,  age,  love,  life  — all  were  given 
In  death,  she  lingered  between  him  and  Heaven ; 
Thus  spake  the  patriot,  in  his  latest  sigh,  — 
"My  duty  done  —  I  do  not  fear  to  die!  ' 


«8.   THE  passage.  -  (7A/and.    Translated  by  Miss  Austen 

Many  a  year  is  in  its  grave 
Since  I  crossed,  this  restless  wave, 
And  the  evening,  fair  as  ever, 
Shines  on  ruin,  rock  and  river. 

Then,  in  this  same  boat,  beside, 
Sat  two  comrades,  old  and  tried  ; 
One  with  all  a  father's  truth. 
One  with  all  the  fire  of  youth. 

One  on  earth  in  science  wrought, 
And  his  grave  in  silenbe  sought 
But  the  younger,  brighter  form, 
Passed  in  battle  and  in  storm. 

So,  whene'er  I  turn  mine  eye 

Back  upon  the  days  gone  by. 

Saddening  thoughts  of  friends  come  o  er  me, 

Friends  who  closed  their  course  before  me. 

Yet  what  binds  us,  friend  to  friend 
But  inai  soui  with  soul  can  blend  ? 
Soul-like  were  those  hours  of  yore  — ■ 
Let  us  walk  in  soul  once  more  I 

Take,  0  boatman,  twice  thy  feel  

Take,  —  I  give  it  willingly  — 

For,  invisibly  to  thee. 

Spirits  twain  have  crossed  with  me. 


THE  STAu<DARD  SPEAKER- 


47.    COURAGE.  — Barry  CornwaK. 

Courage  !  —  Nothing  can  withstand 
Long  a  wronged,  undaunted  land. 
If  the  hearts  within  her  be 
True  unto  themselves  and  thee 
Thou  freed  giant,  Liberty  ! 
0,  no  mountain-nymph  art  thou 
When  the  helm  is  on  thy  brow, 
And  the  sword  is  in  thy  hand, 
Fighting  for  thy  own  good  land  . 

Courage  !  —  Nothing  e'er  withstood 
Freemen  fighting  for  their  good , 
Armed  with  all  their  father's  fame, 
They  will  win  and  wear  a  name. 
That  shall  go  to  endless  glory, 
Like  the  Gods  of  old  Greek  story, 
Raised  to  Heaven  and  heavenly  wortk. 
For  the  good  they  gave  to  earth. 

Courage  !  —  There  is  none  so  poor 
(None  of  all  who  wrong  endure), 
None  so  humble,  none  so  weak. 
But  may  flush  his  father's  cheek, 
And  his  maiden's  dear  and  true, 
With  the  deeds  that  he  may  do. 
Be  his  days  as  dark  as  nigtit. 
He  may  make  himself  a  light. 
What  though  sunken  be  his  sun  ? 
There  are  stars  when  day  is  done  ; 

Courage  !  —  Who  will  be  a  slave. 
That  hath  strength  to  dig  a  grave, 
And  therein  his  futlers  hide, 
And  lay  a  tyrant  by  his  side  ? 
Courage  !  —  Hope,  howe'er  he  fly 
For  a  time,  can  n^ver  die  ! 
Courage,  therefore,  brother  men  ' 
Courage  !    To  the  hght  again ! 


in»  AIOOR'S  TLmW^iQ^^.  —  Oristnal  Paraphrase  from  the  Polish  of  Mitskwwma 

Bejtore  Grenada's  fated  walls,  encamped  in  proud  array, 
And  flushed  with  many  a  victory,  the  Spanish  army  lay. 
Of  all  Grenada's  fortresses  but  one  defies  their  might : 
On  Alphuara's  minarets  the  crescent  still  is  bright. 
Almanzor !  King  Almanzor  !  all  vainly  you  resist : 
Your  little  baud  is  fading  fiist  away  like  morning  mist, 
A  direr  'foe  than  ever  yet  ^.hey  met  on  battle-plain 
Assaults  lifo's  inmost  citadel,  and  heaps  the  ground  with  tlain 


NARRATIVE  AND  LYRICAl. 


457 


One  onset  more  of  Spanish  ranks,  —  and  soon  it  will  be  made  «— 
And  Alphuara's  towers  must  reel,  and  in  the  dust  be  laid. 
*'  And  shall  the  haughty  infidel  pollute  this  sacred  land  ?  " 
Almanzor  said,  as  mournfully  he  marked  his  dwindling  band. 
"  Upon  our  glorious  crescent  shall  the  Spaniard  set  his  heel  ? 
And  is  there  not  one  lingering  hope  ?  Can  Heaven  no  aid  reveal  ? 
Ay,  by  our  holy  Prophet,  now,  one  ally  still  remains  ! 
And  I  will  bind  him  close  to  me,  —  for  better  death  than  chains  I 
The  victors  at  the  banquet  sat,  and  music  lent  its  cheer, 
When  suddenly  a  sentry's  voice  announced  a  stranger  near 
From  Alphuara  had  he  come,  with  fierce,  unwonted, speed, 
And  much  it  would  import  to  Spain  the  news  he  bore  to  heed. 
"  Admit  him  !  "  cry  the  revellers  ;  and  in  the  pilgrim  strode. 

And,  throwing  ofi"  his  mantle  loose,  a  Moorish  habit  showed  ! 

"  Almanzor  !  King  Almanzor  !  "  they  cried,  with  one  acclaim . 

"Almanzor!  "  said  the  Moslem  cmef ;  "  Almanzor  is  my  name. 

"To  serve  your  prophet  and  your  king,  0  Spaniards,  I  am  here ; 

Believe,  reject  me,  if  you  will,      this  breast  has  outlived  fear  ! 

No  longer  in  his  creed  or  cause  Almanzor  can  confide  ; 

For  all  the  Powers  above,  't  is  clear,  are  fighting  on  your  side." 

"  Now,  welcome,  welcome,  gallant  Moor  !  "  the  Spanish  chieftain  said : 

"  Grenada's  last  intrenchment  now  we  speedily  shall  tread. 

Approach,_  embrace ;  our  waning  feast  thy  coming  shall  renew ; 

And  in  this  cup  of  foaming  wine  we  '11  drink  to  yours  and  you!' 

Right  eagerly,  to  grasp  the  hands  outstretched  on  every  'side, 

Almanzor  rushed,  and  greeted  each  as  bridegroom  might  his  bride 

He  glued  his  fevered  lips  to  theirs,  —  he  kissed  them  on  the  cheeL 

And  breathed  on  all  as  if  his  heart  would  all  its  passion  wreak. 

But  suddenly  his  limbs  relax,  a  flush  comes  o'er  his  face. 

He  reels,  as,  with  a  pressure  faint,  he  gives  a  last  embrace  ; 

And  livid,  purple  grows  his  skin,  and  wild  his  eyeballs  roll. 

And  some  great  torture  seems  to  heave  the  life-roots  of  his  soul. 

"  Look,  Griaours  !  *  >niscreants  in  race,  and  infidels  in  creed ! 
Look  on  this  pale,  da  Ported  face,  and  tell  me  what  ye  read  ! 
These  limbs  convulsed,  these  fiery  pangs,  these  eyeballs  hot  and  blear 
'  here!     ^""^  ^^^^  ^^^^  V^^^^^^  ?    The  plague  the  plague,  ii? 
And  it  has  sealed  you  for  its  own ;  ay,  every  Judas  kiss 
I  gave  shall  bring  anon  to  you  an  agony  like  this  ! 
All  art  is  vain :  your  poisoned  blood  all  leechcraft  will  defy, 
Like  me  ye  shall  in  anguish  writhe  —like  me  in  torture  die  '  " 

Once  more  he  stepped  their  chief  to  reach,  and  blast  him  with  hii 
breath ; 

But  sank,  as  if  Revenge  itself  were  striving  hard  with  Death. 

*  Pronounced  Gowers  —  the  ow»  as  in  power. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


And  through  the  group  a  horrid  thrill  his  words  and  aspect  woke, 
When,  with  a  proud,  undaunted  mien,  their  chief  Alphonzo  spoke 
And  deem'st  thou,  treacherous  renegade,  whatever  may  befall, 
These  warriors  true,  these  hearts  of  proof.  Death  ever  can  appall  ? 
Ay,  writhe  and  toss,  no  taint  of  fear  the  sight  to  them  can  bring 
Their  souls  are  shrived,  and  Death  himself  for  them  has  lost  his  sting 

«  Then  let  him  come  as  gory  War,  with  life-wounds  deep  and  red, 
Or  let  him  strike  as  fell  Disease,  with  racking  pains  instead, 
Still  in  these  spirits  he  shall  find  a  power  that  shall  defy 
All  woe  and  pain  that  can  but  make  the  mortal  body  die. 
So,  brethren,  leave  this  carrion  here,  —  nay,  choke  not  with  tk% 
gall  !  — 

And  through  our  camps  a  note  of  cheer  let  every  bugle  call.  ^ 
We  '11  tear  yon  crescent  from  its  tower  ere  stars  are  out  to-night  : 
And  let  Death  come,  —  we  '11  heed  him  not !  —  so,  forward  !  to  thfl 
fight!" 

A  groan  of  rage  upon  his  lips,  Almanzor  hid  his  head 
Beneath  his  mantle's  ample  fold,  and  soon  was  with  the  dead. 
But,  roused  by  those  intrepid  words  to  death-defying  zeal, 
The  chieftains  armed  as  if  they  longed  to  hear  the  clash  of  steel 
The  trumpets  sounded  merrily,  while,  dazzlingly  arrayed,  ^ 
On  Alphuara's  walls  they  rushed,  and  low  the  crescent  laid. 
And  of  the  gallant,  gallant  hearts  who  thus  grim  Death  defied, 
'Mid  pestilence  and  carnage,  none  of  plague  or  battle  died. 


CHARADE  ON  THE  NAME  OF  (UMPBELL,  THE  POET.  —  W.  M.  Praed.  Born 
1801 ;  died,  1845. 

OoME  from  my  First,  —  ay,  come  !  the  battle  dawn  is  nigh. 

And  the  screaming  trump  and  thundering  drum  are  calling  thee  to  die  = 

Fight  as  thy  father  fought,  fall  as  thy  father  fell ; 

Thy  task  is  taught,  thy  shroud  is  wrought,  —  so  forward,  and  farewell 

Toll  ye  my  Second,  toll !    Fill  high  the  flambeau's  light,  ^ 
And  sing  the  hymn  of  a  parted  soul,  beneath  the  silent  nigbt. 
The  wreath  upon  his  head,  the  cross  upon  his  breast. 
Let  the  prayer  be  said,  and  the  tear  be  shed,  —  so,  take  him  to  hiji 
rest 

Call  ye  my  Whole,  —  ay,  call  the  lord  of  lute  and  lay, 

And  let  him  greet  the  sable  pall  with  a  noble  song  to-day  ' 

(ro  call  him  by  his  name !  —  no  fitter  hand  may  crave 

To  light  the  flame  of  a  soldier's  fame,  on  the  turf  of  a  soldier's  grave 


PART  SEVENTH. 


SCRIPTURAL  AND  DEVOTIONAL 


1.    BALAAM'S  PKOPHECT  IN  EEHALP  OP  ISRJlUL.- Number,. 

And  hP^'t"*^  K-        n''''  '  f  'P'"'  «f  '^-™  '"-"^^  "Pon  h™. 

And  he  took  up  his  parable,  and  said  : 

.rl'Y^'  ^^J,  '™  f  ?T'  ""Jf  ^I'^se  eyes  are 

open  hatli  said  ;  -  /«  hath  sa.d,  which  heard  the  words  of  God!  which 
saw  the  vision  of  the  Almighty,  -  falling  into  a  trance,  but  hly in. 
h.8  eyes  open:  — How  goodly  are  thy  tents,  0  Jacob    and  th! 

^rdrst'tb''  '"^'^^  t  i-^'      1  - 

^rdens  by  the  riTer's  side,  as  the  trees  of  lign  akes  which  the  Lord 

hath  planted,  and  as  cedar-trees  beside  the  waters.     His  king  sbaU 

be  higher  than  Agag,  and  his  kingdom  shall  be  exalted 

(70d  IS  not  a  man,  that  He  should  lie  ;  neither  the  son  of  man  that 

He  should  repent    Hath  He  said,  and  shall  He  not  do  it  ?    Or  hath 

He  spoken,  and  shall  He  not  make  it  good  ?    Behold,  I  have  relS 

It.  How  shall  :  curse,  whom  God  hath  not  cursed  ?  Or,  how  shall 
I  defy,  whom  the  Lord  hath  not  defied  ?  He  hath  not  behe  d  ildtv 
in  Jacob,  neither  hath  He  seen  perversencss  in  Israel :  th  LoK 
God  s  with  him,  and  the  shout  of  a  King  is  amon<.  them  God 
brought  him  forth  out  of  Egypt ;  he  hath  ^  it  were,  the  strength  of 
an  unicorn  :  he  shall  eat  up  the  nations,  hi»  enemies,  and  shall  break 
tW  bones,  and  pierce  them  through  w^th  hi.  anws.  Suil  there 
^  no  enchantment  against  Jacob,  neither  is  there  any  dirination  Lin't 
W  ■  according  to  this  time  it  shall  be  said  of  jLb  and  of  S 
Wlmt  hath  God  wrought!    Behold,  the  People  shall  rise  un  as  a 

untU  he  eat  of  the  prey,  and  drink  the  blood  of  the  slain 

iJZ'l'""'  ?  .^P,?^  'i""  '•o^fcs  Ise^him;  and  from  the  hills] 
benold  him  :  lo,  the  People  shall  dwell  alone,  and  shaU  not  be  rock, 
oned  among  the  nations.  Who  can  count  the  dust  of  Jacob  ^d  th. 
aumber  of  the  fourth  part  of  Israel  ?  l.t  „e  A^e  tW,  Ztbrf  It 
nghteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  hia ! 


460 


THE  STANDARl  SPEAKEI.. 


i    PAUL'S  DEEENCI;  BEFORE  FESTUS  AND  AGRIPI'A. 

I  THINK  myself  happy,  Kmg  Agrippa,  because  I  shall  answer  foi 
myself  this  day  before  thee,  touching  all  the  things  whereof  I  am 
accused  of  the  Jews  ;  especially  because  I  know  thee  to  be  expert 
allcujstoms  and  questions  which  are  among  the  Jews;  wherefore  ] 
beseech  thee  to  hear  me  patiently. 

My  manner  of  life  from  my  youth,  which  was  at  the  first  among 
mine  own  Nation  at  Jerusalem,  know  all  the  Jews  ;  which  knew  me 
from  the  beginning,  if  they  would  testify,  that  after  the  most  straitesi: 
sect  of  our  religion,  I  lived  a  Pharisee.  And  now  I  stand  and  am 
judged  for  the  hope  of  the  promise  made  of  God  unto  our  fathers ; 
unto  which  promise  our  twelve  tribes,  instantly  serving  God  day  and 
night,  hope  to  come.  For  which  hope's  sake,  King  Agrippa,  I  am 
accused  of  the  Jews.  ^      ^  ^ 

Why  should  it  be  thought  a  thing  incredible  with  you,  that  God 
should  raise  the  dead  ?  I  verily  thought  with  myself,  that  I  ought 
to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the  name  of  J esus  of  Nazareth ;  which 
thing  I  also  did  in  Jerusalem  ;  and  many  of  the  saints  did  I  shut  up 
in  prison,  having  received  authority  from  the  chief  priests ;  and  whtn 
they  were  put  to  death,  I  gave  my  voice  against  them.  And  I  pun- 
ished them  oft  in  every  synagogue,  and  compelled  them  to  blaspheme  ■ 
and  being  exceedingly  mad  against  them,  I  persecuted  them  even  unto 
strange  cities.  .  . 

Whereupon,  as  I  went  to  Damascus,  with  authority  and  commission 
from  the  chief  priests,  at  mid-day,  0  King  !  I  saw  in  the  way  a  light 
from  Heaven,  above  the  brightness  of  the  sun,  sliining  round  about 
me,  and  them  which  journeyed  with  me.  And  when  we  were  all 
fallen  to  the  earth,  I  heard  a  voice  speaking  unto  me,  and  saying,  m 
the  Hebrew  tongue,  "  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me  ?  It  is 
hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the  goads."  And  I  said,  "  Who  art  thou, 
Lord  ? "  And  he  said,  "  I  am  Jesus,  whom  thou  persecutest ;  out 
rise,  and  stand  upon  thy  feet ;  for  I  have  appeared  unto  tli.^e  for  this 
purpose,  to  make  thee  a  minister  and  a  witness,  both  of  these  thing* 
which  thou  hast  seen,  and  of  those  things  in  the  which  I  will  appear 
unto  thee ;  delivering  thee  from  the  People,  and  from  the  Gentiles, 
unto  whom  now  I  send  thee,  to  open  their  eyes,  and  to  turn  them 
from  darkness  to  light,  and  from  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God  ;  that 
they  may  receive  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  inheritance  among  them 
which  are  sanctified  by  faith  that  is  in  me." 

Whereupon,  O  King  Agrippa!  I  was  not  disobedient  unto  tho 
heavenly  vision ;  but  showed  first  unto  them  of  Damascus  and  at 
Jerusalem,  and  throughout  all  the  coasts  of  Judaea,  and  then  to  the 
Gentiles,  that  they  should  repent  and  turn  to  God,  and  do  works  meet 
for  repentance.  For  these  causes  the  Jews  caught  me  in  the  temple, 
and  went  about  to  kill  me.  Having,  therefore,  obtained  help  of  God, 
r  continue  unto  this  day,  witnessing  both  to  small  and  great, ^ying 
acne  other  things  than  those  which  the  prophets  and  Moses?  did  say 


scbipturaa,  and  devotional. 


461 


should  '^ome,  —  that  Christ  should  suffer,  and  that  2ie  should  be  the 
first  thcit  should  rise  from  the  dead,  and  should  show  light  unto  the 
People,  and  to  the  Gentiles. 


6.  OiOnPOTBNCE  OP  JEHOVAH.  — J^o&,  translated  by  Rev.  G.  R.  Ncy€$ 

Vsm  spake  J ehovah  to  Job  out  of  the  whirlwind,  and  said  : 
V\^ho  is  this,  that  darkeneth  my  counsels  by  words  without  knowl&ige' 
Gird  up  thy  loins  like  a  man  ! 
I  will  ask  thee,  and  answer  thou  me  ! 
Where  wast  thou,  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ? 
Declare,  since  thou  hast  such  knowledge  ! 
Who  fixed  its  dimensions  ?  since  thou  knowest ! 
Or  who  stretched  out  the  line  upon  it 
Upon  what  were  its  foundations  fix:ed 
And  who  laid  its  corner-stone. 
When  the  morning-stars  sang  together, 
And  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ? 

Hast  thou  penetrated  to  the  springs  of  the  sea, 
And  walked  through  the  recesses  of  the  deep  ? 
Have'  the  gates  of  death  been  disclosed  to  thee, 
And  hast  thou  seen  the  gates  of  the  shadow  of  death  ? 
Hast  thou  surveyed  the  breadth  of  the  earth  ? 
Declare,  since  thou  knowest  it  all !  — 
Where  is  the  way  by  which  light  is  distributed 
And  the  East  wind  let  loose  upon  the  earth  ? 
Who  hath  prepared  channels  for  the  rain, 
And  a  path  for  the  glittering  thunderbolt. 
To  give  rain  to  the  land  without  an  inhabitant, 
To  the  wilderness,  where  is  no  man ; 
To  satisfy  the  desolate  and  waste  ground, 
And  cause  the  bud  of  the  tender  herb  to  spring  forth  ^ 

Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades 
Or  loosen  the  bands  of  Orion  ? 
Canst  thou  lead  forth  Mazzaroth  in  its  season, 
Or  guide  Arcturus  with  his  sons  ? 
Knowest  thou,  the  ordinances  of  the  Heavens  ? 
Hast  thou  appointed  their  dominion  over  the  earth  ? 
Canst  thou  lift  up  thy  voice  to  the  clouds. 
So  that  abundance  of  waters  will  cover  thee  ? 
Caast  thou  send  forth  lightnings,  so  that  they  will  go, 
And  say  to  thee,  "  Here  we  are  "  ? 
Who  hath  imparted  understanding  to  thy  reins, 
And  given  intelligence  to  thy  mind  ? 
Who  numbereth  the  clouds  in  wisdom  ? 

Hast  thou  given  the  horse  strength  ? 
Hast  tiiou  clothed  his  neck  with  thunder  ? 
Hast  thou  taught  him  tc  bound  like  the  locust  ? 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


How  majestic  his  snorting  !  how  terrible ! 

He  paweth  in  the  valley  ;  he  exulteth  in  his  strength, 

And  rusheth  into  the  midst  of  arms. 

He  laugheth  at  feai  ,  he  trembleth  not, 

And  turneth  not  back  from  the  sword. 

Against  him  rattleth  the  quiver, 

The  flaming  spear,  and  the  lance. 

With  rage  and  fury  he  devoureth  the  ground , 

He  standeth  .not  still  when  the  trumpet  soundeth. 

He  saith  among  the  trumpets,  Aha !  aha ! 

And  snuffeth  the  battle  afar  off ; 

The  thunder  of  the  captains,  and  the  war-shout. 


4.  TRUE  WISDOM. —Jo6,  translated  by  Rev.  G.  R.  iVoye* 

Where  shall  wisdom  be  found  ? 
And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ? 
Man  knoweth  not  the  price  thereof ; 
Nor  can  it  be  found  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
The  deep  saith,  It  is  not  in  me  ; 
And  the  sea  saith.  It  is  not  with  me. 
It  cannot  be  gotten  for  gold. 

Nor  shall  silver  be  weighed  out  as  the  price  thereof. 

It  cannot  be  purchased  with  the  gold  of  Ophir, 

With  the  precious  onyx,  or  the  sapphire. 

Gold  and  crystal  are  not  to  be  compared  with  it ; 

Nor  can  it  be  purchased  with  jewels  of  line  gold. 

No  mention  shall  be  made  of  coral,  or  of  crystal, 

For  wisdom  is  more  precious  than  pearls. 

The  topaz  of  Ethiopia  cannot  equal  it, 

Nor  can  it  be  purchased  with  the  purest  gold. 

Whence,  then,  cometh  wisdom  ? 
And  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ? 
Since  it  is  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  all  the  living 
And  kept  close  from  the  fowls  of  the  air. 
The  realms  of  Death  say. 

We  have  heard  only  a  rumor  of  it  with  our  ears 

God  alone  knoweth  the  way  to  it ; 

He  alone  knoweth  its  dwelling-place. 

For  He  seeth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth, 

And  surveyeth  all  things  under  the  whole  HeavoB 

When  He  gave  the  winds  their  weight. 

And  adjusted  the  waters  by  measure,  — 

When  He  prcRcribed  laws  to  the  rain. 

And  a  path  to  the  glittering  thunderbolt,  • 

Th^n  did  H«  see  it,  and  make  it  known ; 


SCRIPTURAL  AND  DEVOTIONAL. 


fle  established  it,  and  searched  it  out ; 
But  he  said  unto  man, 

Behold  !  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  that  is  wisdom  ; 
And  to  depart  from  evil,  that  is  understanding. 


e   A  NATION'S  STJimGTB..  — Psalm  33,  trdnslated  by  Rev  Q  R  JfoyM. 

Ha-PPY  the  Nation  whose  God  is  Jehovah  ; 
rhe  People  whom  He  hath  chosen  for  His  inheritance. 
The  Lord  looketh  down  from  Heaven  ; 
He  beholdeth  all  the  children  of  men  ; 

From  His  dwelling-place  He  beholdeth  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth 

He,  that  formed  the  hearts  of  all, 

And  observeth  all  their  works. 

A  King  is  not  saved  bj  the  number  of  his  forces, 

Nor  a  hero  by  the  greatness  of  his  strength. 

The  horse  is  a  vain  thing  for  safety, 

Nor  can  he  deliver  his  master  by  his  great  strength. 

Behold,  the  eye  of  the  Lord  is  upon  them  that  fear  Him , 
Upon  them  that  trust  in  His  goodness  ; 
To  save  them  from  the  power  of  death, 
And  keep  them  alive  in  famine. 
The  hope  of  our  souls  is  in  the  Lord ; 
He  is  our  help  and  our  shield. 
Tea,  in  Him  doth  our  heart  rejoice ; 
In  His  holy  name  we  have  confidence. 

May  Thy  goodness  be  upon  us,  0  Lord, 
According  as  we  trust  in  Thee  ! 


6.  EXHORTATION  TO  PRAISE  QOD.~  Psalms. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord.  Praise  ye  the  Lord  from  the  heavens ;  praise 
him  m  the  .heights.  Praise  ye  him,  all  his  angels  :  praise  ye  him,  all 
his  hosts.  Praise  ye  him,  sun  and  moon  :  praise  him,  all  ye  stars  of 
light.  Praise  him,  ye  heavens  of  heavens,  and  ye  waters  that  be 
above  the  heavens.  Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord  •  for  he 
commanded,  and  they  were  created.  He  hath  also  stablished  them 
tor  rver  and  ever :  he  hath  made  a  decree  which  shall  not  pass.  Praise 
Che  Lord  from  the  earth,  ye  dragons  and  all  deeps :  fire,  and  hai^ 
diiow,and  vapors;  stormy  wind  fulfilling  his  word:  mountains,  and 
all  hills ;  fruitful  trees,  and  all  cedars ;  beasts,  and  all  cattle ;  creep- 
mg  things,  and  flying  fowl ;  kings  of  the  earth,  and  all  people ;  princes, 
and  all  judges  of  the  earth ;  both  young  men,  and  maidens  ;  old  men, 
and  children ;  let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord  :  for  his  name 
<ilone  IS  excellent ;  his  glory  is  above  the  earth  and  heaven. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord.    Praise  God  in  his  sanctuary :  praise  him  ir 


164 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


the  firmament  of  his  power.  Praise  him  for  his  mighty  acts :  praist 
him  according  to  his  excellent  greatness.  Praise  him  with  the  sound 
of  the  trumpet ;  praise  him  with  the  psaltery  and  harp.  Praise  him 
with  the  timbrel  and  dance  :  praise  him  with  stringed  instruments  and 
organs.  Praise  him  upon  the  loud  cymbals  :  praise  him  upon  the 
high-sounding  cymbals.  Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise  the 
Lord.    Praise  ye  the  Lord. 


7.  THE  JOYFUL  M.ES5F^G^^.  — Isaiah,  translated  by  Bishop  Lowth. 

How  oeautiful  appear  on  the  mountains 
The  feet  of  the  joyful  messenger,  —  of  him  that  announceth  peace  ! 
Of  the  joyful  messenger  of  good  tidings,  —  of  him  that  announceth 
salvation ! 

Of  him,  that  sayeth  unto  Sion,  Thy  God  reigneth ! 

All  thy  watchmen  lift  up  their  voice  :  they  shout  together ; 

For,  face  to  face  shall  they  see,  when  J ehovah  returneth  to  Sion, 

Burst  forth  into  joy,  shout  together,  ye  ruins  of  Jerusalem  ! 

For  Jehovah  hath  comforted  His  people ;  He  hath  redeemed  Israel. 

Jehovah  hath  made  bare  His  holy  arm,  in  the  sight  of  all  the  Nations 

And  all  the  ends  of  the  earth  have  seen  the  salvation  of  our  God. 

Depart,  depart  ye,  go  ye  out  from  thence;  touch  no  polluted  thing: 
Go  ye  out  from  the  midst  of  her ;  be  ye  clean,  ye  that  bear  the  vesseH 

of  Tehovah ! 
Verily  not  in  haste  shall  ye  go  forth ; 
And  not  by  flight  shall  ye  march  along . 
For  Jehovah  shall  march  in  your  front ; 
And  the  God  of  Israel  shall  bring  up  your  rear. 


8.  HYMN  OF  OUR  FIRST  PARENTS. —JVft*«on. 

These  are  thy  glorious  works.  Parent  of  good, 
Almighty  !  thine  this  universal  frame. 
Thus  wondrous  fair  ;  thyself  how  wondrous,  then 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt'st  above  these  Heavens, 
To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare^ 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels  ;  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 
Circle  his  throne  rejoicing  ;  ye  in  Heaven, 
On  earth  jdin.  all  ye  creatures,  to  extol 
Him  first,"  Him  last.  Him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Hure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  raorf 


BCRIPTURAL  AND  DEVOTIONAL.  THC  MSON. 


With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  Him  m  thy  sphere, 

While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 

Thou  Sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul, 

Acknowledge  Him  thy  greater ;  sound  His  praise 

In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb'st, 

And  when  high  noon  hast  gained,  and  when  thou  fall's! 

Moon,  that  now  meet'st  the  Orient  sun,  now  fly'st 

With  the  fixed  stars,  fixed  in  their  orb  that  flies ; 

And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires,  that  move 

In  mystic  dance,  not  without  song,  resound 

His  praise  who  out  of  darkness  called  up  light. 

Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 

Of  Nature's  womb,  that  in  quaternion  run 

Perpetual^  circle  multiform,  and  mix 

And  nourish  all  things,  let  your  ceaseless  change 

Vary^to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise. 

Ye  mists  and  exhalations,  that  now  rise 

From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  gray. 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold. 

In  honor  to  the  World's  great  Author  rise  ; 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncolored  sky, 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers. 

Rising  or  falling,  still  advance  His  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 

toathe  soft  or  loud ;  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines, 

With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  mur-murs,  warbling,  tune  His  praise; 

Jem  voices,  all  ye  living  souls  ;  ye  birds. 

That  smgmg  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  His  praise. 

le  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 

The  earth,  and  stately  tread  or  lowly  creep, 

Witness  if  I  he  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill  or  valley,  fountain,  or  fresh  shade. 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  His  praise. 

9.    THE  U^^^T^TlSAL  HYMN  OF  N ATVRE.  -  Thomson, 

These,  as  they  change.  Almighty  Father,  these 
Are  but  the  varied  God.    The  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  Thee     Forth  in  the  pleasing  SpriHg 
Thy  beauty  walks,  Thy  tenderness  and  love. 
Wide  flush  the  fields;  the  softening  air  is  balm; 
^cho  the  mountains  round ;  the  forest  smiles  • 
And  every  sense  and  every  heart  is  joy 
Then  comes  Thy  glory  in  the  Sumn.er  months, 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent.    Then  Thy  sui 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Shoots  full  perfection  through  the  swelling  year^ 
And  oft  Thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks  : 
And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 
By  brooks  and  groves,  in  hollow-whispering  gales 
Thy  bounty  shines  in  Autumn  unconfined, 
And  spreads  a  common  feast  for  all  that  lives. 
Fn  Winter,  awful  Thou  !  with  clouds  and  storms 
Around  Thee  thrown,  tempest  o'er  tempest  rolled 
Majestic  darkness !  on  the  whirlwind's  wing, 
Riding  sublime,  Thou  bidd'st  the  world  adore, 
And  humblest  Nature  with  Thy  northern  blast.  ^ 

Mysterious  round  !  what  skill,  what  force  divine 
Deep  felt,  in  these  appear  !  a  simple  train, 
Yet  so  delightful  mixed,  with  such  kind  art. 
Such  beauty  and  beneficence  combined  ; 
Shade,  unperceived,  so  softening  into  shade ; 
And  all  so  forming  an  harmonious  whole  ; 
That,  as  they  still  succeed,  they  ravish  still. 
But  wandering  oft,  with  brute  unconscious  gaze, 
Man  marks  not  Thee,  marks  not  the  mighty  hand 
That,  ever  busy,  wheels  the  silent  spheres ; 
Works  in  the  secret  deep  ;  shoots,  steaming,  thence 
The  fair  profusion  that  o'erspreads  the  Spring ; 
Flings  from  the  sun  direct  the  flaming  day ; 
Feeds  every  creature ;  hurls  the  tempest  forth ; 
And,  as  on  earth  this  grateful  change  revolves, 
With  transport  touches  all  the  springs  of  life. 

Nature,  attend  !  join,  every  living  soul, 
Beneath  the  spacious  temple  of  the  sky. 
In  adoration  join ;  and,  ardent,  raise 
One  general  song !    To  Him,  ye  vocal  gales, 
Breathe  soft,  whose  Spirit  in  your  freshness  breathes 
0,  talk  of  Him  in  solitary  glooms. 
Where,  o'er  the  rock,  the  scarcely-waving  pine 
Fills  the  brown  shade  with  a  religious  awe. 
And  ye,  whose  bolder  note  is  heard  afar. 
Who  shake  the  astonished  world,  lift  high  to  Heavec 
The  impetuous  song,  and  say  from  whom  you  rage. 
His  praise,  ye  brooks,  attune,  ye  trembling  rills ; 
And  let  me  catch  it  as  I  muse  along. 
Ye  headlong  torrents,  rapid,  and  profound ; 
Ye  softer  floods,  that  lead  the  humid  maze 
Along  the  vale  ;  and  thou,  majestic  main, 
A  secret  world  of  wonders  in  thyself, 
Sound  His  stupendous  praise ;  whose  greatei  voice 
Or  bids  you  roar,  or  bids  your  roarings  fall. 
Soft  roll  your  incense,  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowen*, 
In  mingled  clouds  io  Him ;  whose  sun  exalts, 


(SCKIPTUllAL  AND  DEVOTl  CNAL.  —  COLERIDQE. 

Whose  breath  perfumes  you,  and  whose  pencil  paintfl 

Ye  forests  bend,  ye  harvests  wave,  to  Him  ; 

Bre^.ihe  your  still  song  into  Uie  reaper's  heart, 

As  home  he  goes  beneath  the  joyous  moon 

Ye  that  keep  watch  in  Heaven,  as  earth  asleep 

Unconscious  lies,  effuse  your  mildest  beams 

Ye  constellations,  while  your  angels  strike 

Amid  the  spangled  sky,  the  silver  lyre. 

Great  source  of  day  !  best  image  here  oelow 

Of  thy  Creator,  ever  jDouring  wide. 

From  world  to  world,  the  vital  ocean  round, 

On  Nature  write  with  every  beam  His  praise. 


10.    CIIAMOV^Y.-S.  T.  Coleridge. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course  ?  — so  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  front,  0  sovereign  Blanc  • 
The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly ;  but  thou,  mo»t  awfui  lorm, 
Kisest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines 
How  silently  !    Around  thee  and  above, 
Deep  is  the  air,  and  dark  ;  substantial  blacfc, 
An  ebon  mass :  methinks  thou  piercest  it, 
As  with  a  wedge  !    But,  when  I  look  again, 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity. 

0  dread  and  silent  mount !    I  gazed  upon  thee, 
Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought :  entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshipped  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet,  beguiling  melody, 

So  sweet,  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 

Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thoygbtr-» 

Yea,  with  my  life,  and  life's  own  secret  joy   

Till  the  dilating  soul,  enrapt,  transfused, 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  —  there, 
As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  Heaven 
Awake,  my  soul '    Not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest ;  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
Mute  thanks,  and  silent  ecstasy.  Awake, 
Voice  of  sweet  song  !    Awake,  my  heart,' awake, 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn. 
Thou,  first  and  chief,  sole  sovereign  of  the  vale  I 
0  !  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 
And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink  — 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Companion  of  the  morning  star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn^ 
Co-herald,  wake  !  0  wake  !  and  utter  praise ! 
Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents,  fiercely  glad ! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 
Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks. 
Forever  shattered,  and  the  same  forever  ? 
Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life. 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy 
Unceasing  thunder,  and  eternal  foam  ? 
And  who  commanded,  —  and  the  silence  came, — 
"  Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest "  ? 
Ye  ice-falls  !  ye,  that,  from  the  mountain's  brow. 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain,  — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  !  — 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  Heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?    Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?    Who  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ?  — 
"  God !  "  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  Nations, 
Answer  :  and  le,t  the  ice-plains  echo,  "  God  !  " 

God  !  "  sing,  ye  meadow-streams,  with  gladsome  voi«a 
Ye  pine-groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds  ! 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow. 
And,  in  their  perilous  fall,  shall  thunder,  "  God ! " 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain-storm  ! 
Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds  !  * 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements  ! 
Utter  forth  "  God  !  "  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise. 

Thou,  too,  hoar  mount,  with  thy  sky-pointmg  peaKS, 
Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 
Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds,  that  veil  thy  breast  — 
Thou,  too,  again,  stupendous  mountain  !  thou 
That  —  as  I  raise  my  head,  a  while  bowed  low 
In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 
Slow  travelling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tea»  - 
Solemnly  sccraest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 
To  rise  before  me  —  rise,.  0  ever  rise ! 
Rise,  like  a  cloud  of  incense,  from  the  earth ! 
Thou  kingly  spirit,  throned  among  the  hills, 


SCRIPTURAL  AND  lETOTIONAL.  BEATTIE. 


Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  Heaven, 
Great  hierarch,  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  jou  rising  sun, 
"Earth  with  h^r  thousand  voices,  praises  God.  ' 


11    THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  ^OUTa.  -  Alexander  Popt 

Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame, 
Quit,  0,  quit  this  mortal  frame  ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying 
0,  the  pain,  the  bliss,  of  dying  . 
Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife. 
And  let  me  languish  into  life ! 

Hark !  they  whisper  ;  angeLs  say 
Sister  Spirit,  come  away ; 
What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul !  can  this  be  death  ? 

The  world  recedes,  —  it  disappears  ! 

Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring. 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  !    I  mount,  I  fly ! 

0  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

0  death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 


LIFE  BEYOND  THE  TOMB.  —  James  Beattie.    Born,  1735  5  died,  m 

Such  is  the  destiny  of  all  on  earth : 

So  flourishes  and.  fades  majestic  Man ;  — 

Fair  is  the  bud  his  vernal  morn  brings  forth, 
And  fostering  gales  a  while  the  nursling  fan. 

0  smile,^  ye  Heavens,  serene  '    Ye  mildews  wan 
Ye  blighting  whirlwinds,  spare  his  balmy  prime, 

Nor  lessen  of  his  life  the  little  span. 

Borne'  on  the  swift  though  silent  wings  of  Time, 
Old  Age  comes  on  apace,  to  ravage  all  the  slime. 

And  be  it  so.    Let  those  deplore  their  doom, 
Whose  hope  still  grovels  in  this  dark  sojourn ; 

But  lofty  souls,  who  look  beyond  the  tomb, 

Can  smile  at  Fate,  and  wonder  how  they  mourn. 

Shall  Spring  to  these  sad  scenes  no  more  return  ? 
Is  yonder  wave  the  Sun's  eternal  bed  ? 

Soon  shall  the  Orient  with  new  lustre  burn. 
And  Spring  shall  soon  her  vital  influence  shed. 
Again  attune  the  grove,  again  adorn  the  mead. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Shall  I  be  left,  forgotten  in  the  dust, 

When  Fate,  relenting,  lets  the  flower  revive  ? 
Shall  Nature's  voice,  to  Man  alone  unjust, 

Bid  him,  though  doomed  to  perish,  hope  to  live  ? 
Is  it  for  this  fair  Virtue  oft  must  strive 
'    With  disappointment,  penury,  and  pain  ? 
No !  Heaven's  immortal  Spring  shall  yet  arrive, 

And  man's  majestic  beauty  bloom  again, 

Bright  through  the  eternal  year  of  Love's  triumphant  rraga 


13.  FORGIVENESS. 

When  on  the  fragrant  sandal-tree 

The  woodman's  axe  descends. 
And  she  who  bloomed  so  beauteously 

Beneath  the  keen  stroke  bends. 
E'en  on  the  edge  that  wrought  her  death 
Dying  she  breathed  her  sweetest  breath, 
As  if  to  token,  in  her  fall, 
Peace  to  her  foes,  and  love  to  all. 

How  hardly  man  this  lesson  learns, 

To  smile,  and  bless  the  hand  that  spurns ; 

To  see  the  blow,  to  feel  the  pain, 

But  render  only  love  again  ! 

This  spirit  not  to  earth  is  given,  — 

One  had  it,  but  he  came  from  Heaven. 

Reviled,  rejected  and  betrayed. 

No  curse  he  breathed,  no  'plaint  he  made, 

But  when  in  death's  deep  pang  he  sighed, 

Prayed  for  his  murderers,  and  died. 


lA    THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  —  Philip  Doddridge.   Born,  1702  ;  ditd^  1T» 

Live  while  you  live  *  the  epicure  would  say,  * 
And  seize  the  pleasures  of  the  present  day; 
"  Live  while  you  live,"  the  Christian  preacher  cries, 
"  And  give  to  God  each  moment  as  it  fiies  " 
Lard !  in  my  view,  let  both  united  be ;  — 
t  live  to  pleasure,  while  I  live  to  thee. 


PART  EIGHTH 


RHETORICAL   AND  DRAMATIC. 


1.   HOME  AND  CAKrRAGE.  —  Fictor  Hugo.    Original  Translation. 

Rome  and  Carthage  !  —  behold  them  drawing  near  for  the  struggle 
that  is  to  shake  the  world !  Carthage,  the  metropolis  of  Africa^ 
the  mistress  of  oceans,  of  kingdoms,  and  of  Nations ;  a  magnificent 
eitj,  burthened  with  opulence,  radiant  with  the  strange  arts  ano 
trophies  of  the  East.  She  is  at  the  acme  of  her  civiliz^ation.  She 
can  mount  no  higher.  Any  change  now  must  be  a  decline.  Rome 
is  comparatively  poor.  She  has  seized  all  within  her  grasp,  but 
rather  from  the  lust  of  conquest  than  to  fill  her  own  cofiers.  She  is 
derai-barbarous,  and  has  her  education  and  her  fortune  both  to  make 
All  is_  before  her,  —  nothing  behind.  For  a  time,  these  two  Nations 
exist  in  view  of  each  other.  The  one  reposes  in  the  noontide  of  her 
splendor  ;  the  other  waxes  strong  in  the  shade.  But,  little  by  little, 
air  and  space  are  wanting  to  each  for  her  development.  Rome  begins 
to  perplex  Carthage,  and  Carthage  is  an  eyesore  to  Rome.  Seated  on 
opposite  banks  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  two  cities  look  each  other  in 
the  face.  The  sea  no  longer  keeps  them  apart.  Europe  and  Africa 
weigh  upon  each  other.  Like  two  clouds  surcharged  with  electricity 
they  impend.    With  their  contact  must  come  the  thunder-shock. 

The  catastrophe  of  this  stupendous  drama  is  at  hand.    What  actors 
are  met!    Two  races,  — that  of  merchants  and  mariners,  that  of 
laborers  and  soldiers;    two  Nations,  — the  one  dominant  by  gold- 
'  3  other  by  steel;  two  Republics,  —  the  one  theocratic,  the  other 
aristocratic.    Rome  and  Carthage !  Rome  with  her  army,  Carthao-e 
with  her  fleet;  Carthage,  old,  rich  and  crafty,  —  Rome,  young,  poo"?-, 
and  robust;  the  past  and  the  future;  the  spirit  of  discovery,  and  the 
spirit  of  conquest ;  the  genius  of  commerce,  the  demon  of  war ;  the 
fciast  and  the  South  on  one  side,  the  West  and  the  North  on  the 
other ;  m  short,  two  worlds,  —  the  civilization  of  Africa,  and  the 
civilization  of  Europe.    They  measure  each  other  from  head  to  foot 
Ihey  gather  all  their  forces.    Gradually  the  war  kindles.    The  world 
takes  tire.    These  colossal  powers  are  locked  in  deadly  strife.  Car 
thage  has  crossed  the  Alps;  Rome,  the  seas.    The  two  Nations,  per- 
sonified m  two  men,  Hannibal  and  Scipio,  close  with  each  other 
tvrestle,  and  grow  infui-iate.    The  duel  is  desperate.    It  is  a  struff^rle 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


for  life.  Rome  wavers.  She  utters  that  cry  of  anguish  —  Hannil/oi 
9,t  the  gates  I  But  she  rallies,  —  collects  all  her  strength  for  one  last^ 
appalling  effort,  —  throws  herself  upon  Carthage,  and  sweeps  her  from 
ike  fflioe  of  the  earth  ! 


'2.  THE  DRONES  OF  THE  COMMUNITY.  —  Pcrc^  ByssAc  SheUsp. 

Those  gilded  flies 
That,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  a  Court, 
Fatten  on  its  corruption  —  what  are  they  ? 
The  drones  of  the  community !  they  feed 
On  the  mechanic's  labor ;  the  starved  hind 
For  them  compels  the  stubborn  glebe  to  yield 
Its  unshared  harvests ;  and  yon  squalid  form, 
Leaner  than  fleshless  misery,  that  wastes 
A  sunless  life  in  the  unwholesome  mine. 
Drags  out  in  labor  a  protracted  death. 
To  glut  their  grandeur.    Many  faint  with  toil, 
That  few  may  know  the  cares  and  woe,  of  sloth. 

Whence,  think 'st  thou,  kings  and  parasites  arose  ? 
Whence  that  unnatural  line  of  drones,  who  heap 
Toil  and  unvanquishable  penury 
On  those  who  build  their  palaces,  and  bring 
Their  daily  bread  ?  —  From  vice,  black,  loathsome  vice  i 
From  rapine,  madness,  treachery,  and  wrong ; 
From  all  that  genders  misery,  and  makes 
Of  earth  this  thorny  wilderness  ;  from  lust, 
Revenge,  and  murder.  —  And,  when  Reason's  voice- 
Loud  as  the  voice  of  nature,  shall  have  waked 
The  Nations ;  and  mankind  perceive  that  vice 
Is  discord,  war,  and  misery,  —  that  virtue 
Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony ; 
When  man's  raaturer  nature  shall  disdain 
The  playthings  of  its  childhood  ;  —  kingly  glare 
Will  lose  its  power  to  dazzle ;  its  authority 
Will  silently  pass  by ;  the  gorgeous  throne 
Shall  stand  unnoticed  in  the  regal  hall, 
Fast  fliUing  to  decay ,  whilst  falsehood's  trade 
Shall  be  as  hateful  and  unprofitable 
As  that  of  truth  is  now. 

Where  is  the  fame 
Which  the  vain-glorious  mighty  of  the  earth 
Seek  to  eternize  ?    0  !  the  faintest  sound 
From  time's  light  foot-fall,  the  miimtest  wave 
That  swells  the  flood  of  ages,  whelms  in  nothing 
The  unsubstantial  bubble.    Ay  to-day 
Stern  is  the  tyrant's  raandate,  —  red  the  gaze 
That  scatters  nmUitudes.    To-morrow  comes ' 


RHETORICAL  ANC  DRAMATIC.  —  SHERIDAN. 


That  mandate  is  a  t  junder-peal  that  died 

In  ages  past :  that  gaze,  a  transient  flash 

On  which  the  midnight  closed ;  and  on  that  arm 

The  worm  has  made  his  meal. 


3   CiEtiAR'S  PASSAGE  OF  THE  RUBICON. -^ame.  Sheridan  Knowie, 

A  GENTLEMAN,  Mr.  Chairman,  speaking  of  Csesar's  benevolent  dis- 
position, and  of  the  reluctance  with  which  he  entered  into  the  civii 
war,  obfeerves,  "  How  long  did  he  pause  upon  the  brink  of  the  Rubi^ 
con!''    How  came  he  to  the  brink  of  that  river?    How  dared  he 
cross  it  ?    Shall  private  men  respect  the  boundaries  of  private  prop- 
erty, and  shall  a  man  pay  no  respect  to  the  boundaries  of  his 
3ountry's  rights?     How  dared  he  cross  that  river?    0!  but  he 
paused  upon  the  brink.    He  should  have  perished  upon  the  brink  ere 
he  had  crossed  it!    Why  did  he  pause?    Why  does  a  man's  heart 
palpitate  when  he  is  on  the  point  of  committing  an  unlawful  deed  ? 
Why  does  the  very  murderer,  his  victim  sleeping  before  him,  and  his 
glaring  eye  taking  the  measure  of  the  blow,  strike  wide  of  the  mortal 
part  ?  ^  Because  of  conscience  !    'T  was  that  made  Ciesar  pause  upon 
the  brink  of  the  Rubicon.    Compassion!    What  compassion  ?  The 
compassion  of  an  assassin,  that  feels  a  momentary  shuddc^  as  his 
weapon  begins  to  cut !    Caesar  paused  upon  the  brink  of  the  Rubicon ' 
What  was  the  Rubicon  ?    The  boundary  of  Csesar's  province.  From 
what  did  It  separate  his  province  ?    From  his  country.    Was  that 
country  a  desert?    No  :  it  was  cultivated  and  fertile,  rich  and  pop- 
ulous !    Its  sons  were  men  of  genius,  spirit,  and  generositv '  Its 
daughters  were  lovely,  susceptible,  and  chaste!    Friendship Vas  its 
inimbitant!    Love  was  its  inhabitant!    Domestic  affection  was  its 
innabitant  I    Liberty  was  its  inhabitant !   All  bounded  by  the  stream 
ot  the  Rubicon  I    What  was  Csesar,  that  stood  upon  the  bank  of  that 
stream  ?    A  traitor,  bringing  war  and  pestilence  into  the  heart  o^"  that 
country!    No  wonder  that  he  paused,  —  no  wonder  if,  his  imagina- 
tion wrought  upon  by  his  conscience,  he  had  beheld  blood  instead  of 
water,  and  heard  groans  instead  of  murmurs !    No  wonder,  if  some 
gorgon  horror  had  turned  him  into  stone  upon  the  spot !    But  no  '  — 
he  cried,  "The  die  is  cast!"    He  plunged'  — he  crossed!  — and 
Rome  was  free  no  more ! 


4.  ROLLA'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  PERUVIANS. -SAerto. 

My  brave  associates,  —  partners  of  my  toil,  my  feelings,  and  my 
fame!  — can  Rolla's  words  add  vigor  to  the  virtuous  energies  which 
inspire  yj^ur  hearts  ?  No !  You  have  judged,  as  I  have,  the  foul- 
aess  ot  the  crafty  plea  by  which  these  bold  invaders  would  delude 
you  Your  generous  spirit  has  compared,  us  mine  has,  the  motive 
which,  m  a  wa  hke  thi^s,  can  animate  their  minds  and  ours.  Thej 


474 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


by  a  strange  fienzy  driven,  fight  for  power,  for  plunder,  and  exter^ded 
i*ulo :  we,  for  oar  country,  our  altars,  and  our  homes.  They  follow 
an  adventurer  whom  they  fear,  and  obey  a  power  which  they  hate  : 
we  serve  a  monarch  whom  we  love  —  a  God  whom  we  adore.  When- 
e'er they  move  in  anger,  desolation  tracks  their  progress  !  Whene'er 
they  pause  in  amity,  affliction  mourns  their  friendship.  They  boast 
they  come  but  to  improve  our  state,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  fi-ee  us 
from  the  yoke  of  error !  Yes  :  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  tt 
our  minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and 
pride  !  They  offer  us  their  protection :  yes,  such  protection  as  vultures 
give  to  lambs  —  covering  and  devouring  them !  They  call  on  us 
to  barter  all  of  good  we  have  enhanced  and  proved,  for  the  desperate 
chance  of  something  better  which  they  promise.  Be  our  plain  answer 
this  :  —  The  throne  we  honor  is  the  People's  choice ;  the  laws  we 
reverence  are  our  brave  fathers'  legacy ;  the  faith  we  follow  teachea 
us  to  live  in  bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind,  and  die  with  hope  of 
bliss  beyond  the  grave.  Tell  your  invaders  this  ;  and  tell  them,  too, 
we  seek  no  change,  —  and,  least  of  all,  such  change  as  they  would 
bring  us ! 


5.    RICHELIEU  AND  FRANCE.  —Str  E.  Bulwer  Lytton. 

My  liege,  your  anger  can  recall  your  trust, 
Annul  my  oSce,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 
Rifle  my  coffers  ;  but  my  name,  —  my  deeds,  ■— 
Are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre. 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ;  —  from  Kings, 
Lo,  I  appeal  to  time  !    Be  just,  my  liege. 
I  found  your  Kingdom  rent  with  heresies. 
And  bristling  with  rebellion ;  —  lawless  nobles 
And  breadless  serfs ;  England  fomenting  discord , 
Austria,  her  clutch  on  your  dominion ;  Spain 
Forging  the  prodigal  gold  of  either  Ind 
To  armed  thunderbolts.    The  Arts  lay  dead ; 
Trade  rotted  in  your  marts ;  your  Armies  mutinous, 
Your  Treasury  bankrupt.    Would  you  now  revoke 
Your  trust,  so  be  it !  and  I  leave  you,  sole, 
Supremest  Monarch  of  the-  mightiest  realm, 
From  Ganges  to  the  Icebergs.    Look  without,  — 
No  foe  not  humbled  !    Look  within,  —  the  Arts 
Quit,  for  our  schools,  their  old  Hesperidcs, 
The  golden  Italy  !  while  throughout  the  veins 
Of  your  vast  empire  flows  in  strengthening  tides 
Trade,  the  calm  health  of  Nations !    Sire,  I  know 
That  men  have  called  me  cruel ;  — 
r  am  not ;  —  I  dm  just !    I  found  France  rent  asunder 
The  rich  men  despots,  and  the  poor  banditti , 
Sloth  in  the  mart,  and  schism  within  the  temple 


RHETOKICAL  AND  UflAMATIC.  —  BULWER. 


Brawls  festering  to  rebellion ;  and  weak  laws 
Botting  away  with  rust  in  antique  sheaths. 
I  have  re-creatsd  France ;  and,  from  the  ashes 
Of  the  old  feudal  and  decrepit  carcass, 
Civilization,  on  her  luminous  wings, 
Soars,  phoenix-like,  to  Jove !    What  was  mj  art  ? 
Genius,  some  say ;  —  some.  Fortune ;  —  Witchcraft,  son 
Not  so ;  —  my  art  was  Justice  ! 
|~]  ^ar^^x;^  

CaOMWELL  ON  THE  DEiTH  OF  CHARLES  THE  FIRST.  -Original  adapta 
from  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton. 

By  what  law  fell  King  Charles?    By  all  the  laws 
He  left  us !    And  I,  Cromwell,  here  proclaim  it. 
Sirs,  let  us,  with  a  calm  and  sober  eye. 
Look  on  the  spectre  of  this  ghastly  deed. 
W^ho  spills  man's  blood,  bis  shall  by  man  be  shed ! 
T  is  Heaven's  first  law ;  to  that  law  we  had  come,  ~ 
None  other  left  us.    Who,  then,  caused  the  strife 
That  crimsoned  Naseby's  field,  and  Marston's  moor  « 
It  was  the  Stuart ;  —  so  the  Stuart  fell ! 
A  victim,  in  the  pit  himself  had  dio-o-ed ! 
He  died  not.  Sirs,  as  hated  Kings  have  died. 
In  secret  and  in  shade,  —  no  eye  to  trace  I 
The  one  step  from  their  prison  to  their  pall ;  ^ 
He  died  i'  the  eyes  of  Europe,  —  in  the  face 
Of  the  broad  Heaven ;  amidst  the  sons  of  England, 
Whom  he  had  outraged ;  by  a  solemn  sentence, 
Passed  by  a  solemn  Court.    Does  this  seem  guilt  ? 
You  pity  Charles  !  't  is  well ;  but  pity  more 
The  tens  of  thousand  honest  humble  men. 
Who,  by  the  tyranny  of  Charles  compelled 
To  draw  the  sword,  fell  butchered  in  the  field ! 
Good  Lord !  when  one  man  dies  who  wears  a  Crown, 
How  the  earth  trembles,  —  how  the  Nations  gape 
Amazed  and  awed  !  —  but  when  that  one  man's  victiiiw, 
Poor  worms,  unclothed  in  purple,  daily  die, 
In  the  grim  cell,  or  on  the  groaning  gibbet, 
Or  on  the  civil  field,  ye  pitying  souls 
Drop  not  one  tear  from  your  indifferent  eyes ! 

He  would  have  stretched  his  will 
O'er  the  unlimited  empire  of  men's  souls. 
Fettered  the  Earth's  pure  air,  —  for  freedom  is 
That  air,  to  honest  lips,  4-  and  here  he  lies. 
In  dust  most  eloquent,  td  after  time 
A  never-silent  oracle  for  Kings ! 
Was  this  the  hand  that  strained  within  its  graap 
bo  haught  a  sceptre  ?  —  this  the  shape  that  wore 
Majesty  like  a  garment  ?    Spurn  that  clay,  — 


fHE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


It  can  resent  not ;  speak  of  royal  crimes,  \ 
And  it  can  frown  not ;  —  schenieless  lies  tne  braiiii 
Whose,  thoughts  were  sources  of  such  fearfiil  deeds. 
What  things  are  we,  0  Lord,  when,  at  thy  will, 
A  worm  like  this  could  shake  the  mighty  world ! 

A  few  years  since,  and  in  the  port  was  moored 
A  bark  to  far  Columbia's  forests  bound ; 
And  I  was  one  of  those  indignant  hearts 
Panting  for  exile  in  the  thirst  for  freedom. 
Then,  that  pale  clay  (poor  clay,  that  was  a  King!) 
Forbade  my  parting,  in  the  wanton  pride 
Of  vain  command,  and  with  a  fated  sceptre 
Waved  back  the  shadow  of  the  death  to  come. 
Here  stands  that  baffled  and  forbidden  wanderer. 
Loftiest  amid  the  wrecks  of  ruined  empire, 
Beside  the  coffin  of  a  headless  King! 
He  thralled  my  fate,  —  I  have  prepared  his  doom 
He  made  me  captive,  —  lo  !  his  narrow  cell ! 
So  hands  unseen  do  fashion  forth  the  earth 
Of  our  frail  schemes  into  our  fiineral  urns ; 
So,  walking  dream-led  in  Life's  sleep,  our  steps 
Move  blindfold  to  the  scafibld  or  the  Throne ! 


PROCREATIVE  VIRTUE  OF  GREAT  EXAMPLES.  —LordBfren, 

We  will  not  strike  for  private  wrongs  alone . 
Such  are  for  selfish  passions  and  rash  men, 
But  are  unworthy  a  tyrannicide. 
We  must  forget  all  feelings  save  the  one  ; 
We  must  resign  all  passions  save  our  purpose ; 
We  must  behold  no  object  save  our  country,  — 
And  only  look  on  death  as  beautiful. 
So  that  the  sacrifice  ascend  to  Heaven, 
And  draw  down  freedom  on  her  evermore. 

"  But  if  we  fail  —  ? '     They  never  fail  who  die 
In  a  great  cause !    The  block  may  soak  their  gore-' 
Their  heads  may  sodden  in  the  sun ;  their  limbs 
Be  strung  to  city  gates  and  castle  walls ;  — 
But  still  their  spirit  walks  abroad     Though  years 
Elapse,  and  others  share  as  dark  a  doom, 
They  but  augment  the  deep  and  sweeping  thought* 
Which  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 
The  world,  at  last,  to  freedom  ?    What  were  we, 
If  Brutus  had  not  lived  ?    He  died  in  giving 
Rome  liberty,  but  left  a  deathless  lesson,  — 
A  name  which  is  a  virtue,  and  a  soul 
Which  multiplies  itself  throughout  all  time, 
When  wicked  men  wax  mighty,  and  a  State 


BHETOJtilCAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  BYRON. 


Turns  servile.    He  and  his  high  friends  were  styled 
"  The  List  of  Romans !  "    Let  us  be  the  first 
Of  true  Venetians,  sprung  from  Roman  sires ; 


IfABINO  FALIERO  TO  THE  VENETIAN  CONSPIRATORS  —Lor J  Byrtm 

You  see  me  here, 
As  one  of  you  hath  said,  an  old,  unarmed, 
Defenceless  man ;  and  yesterday  you  saw  me 
Presiding  in  the  hall  of  ducal  state, 
Apparent  sovereign  of  our  hundred  isles, 
Robed  in  official  purple,  dealing  out 
The  edicts  of  a  power  which  is  not  mine. 
Nor  yours,  but  of  our  masters,  the  Patricians. 
Why  I  was  there,  you  know,  or  think  you  know ; 
Why  I  am  here,  he  who  hath  been  most  wronged, 
He  who  among  you  hath  been  most  insulted, 
Outraged,  and  trodden  on,  until  he  doubt 
If  he  be  worm  or  no,  may  answer  for  me. 
Asking  of  his  own  heart,  —  what  brought  him  here 
You  know  my  recent  story ;  all  men  know  it, 
And  judge  of  it  far  differently  from  those 
Who  sate  in  judgment  to  heap  scorn  on  scorn. 
But  spare  me  the  recital,  —  it  is  here, 
Here,  at  my  heart,  the  outrage !  —  but  my  words, 
Alreadj  spent  in  unavailing  'plaints, 
Would  only  show  my  feebleness  the  more ; 
And  I  come  here  to  strengthen  even  the  strong, 
And  urge  them  on  to  deeds,  and  not  to  war 
With  woman's  weapons ;  but  I  need  not  urge  you. 
Our  private  wrongs  have  sprung  from  public  vices 
In  this  —  I  cannot  call  it  commonwealth, 
Nor  kingdom,  which  hath  neither  prince  ncr  Peoph, 
But  all  the  sins  of  the  old  Spartan  state, 
Without  its  virtues,  temperance,  and  valor. 
The  lords  of  Lacedemon  were  true  soldiers  ; 
But  ours  are  Sybarites,  while  we  are  Helots, 
Of  whom  I  am  the  lowest,  most  enslaved. 
Although  dressed  out  to  head  a  pageant,  as 
The  Greeks  of  yore  made  drunk  their  slaves,  tc  form 
A  pastime  for  their  children.    You  are  met' 
To  overthrow  this  monster  of  a  State, 
rhis  mockery  of  a  Government,  this  spectre, 
\\Tiich  must  be  exorcised  with  blood,  and  then 
We  will  renew  the  times  of  truth  and  justice, 
Condensing,  in  a  fair,  free  connnonwealth, 
Not  rasL  equality,  but  equal  rights, 
Proportioned  like  the  columns  to  the  temple, 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Giving  and  taking  strengtli  reciprocal, 

And  making  firm  the  whole  with  grace  and  beautj, 

So  that  no  part  could  be  removed  without 

Infringement  on  the  general  symmetry. 

In  operating  this  great  change,  I  claim 

To  be  one  of  you,  if  you  trust  in  me ; 

If  not,  strike  home ;  —  my  life  is  compromised, 

And  I  would  rather  fall  by  freemen's  hands. 

Than  live  another  day  to  act  the  tyrant, 

As  delegate  of  tyrants.    Such  I  am  not, 

And  never  have  been.    Read  it  in  our  annals. 

I  can  appeal  to  my  past  government 

In  many  lands  and  cities  ;  they  can  tell  you 

If  I  were  an  oppressor,  or  a  man 

Feeling  and  thinking  for  my  fellow-men. 

Haply,  had  I  been  what  the  Senate  sought, 

A  thing  of  robes  and  trinkets,  dizeued  out 

To  sit  in  state  as  for  a  sovereign's  picture,  — 

A  popular  scourge,  a  ready  sentence-signer, 

A  stickler  for  the  Senate  and  "  the  Forty," 

A  sceptic  of  all  measures  which  had  not 

The  sanction  of  "  the  Ten,"  —  a  council-fawner, 

A  tool,  a  fool,  a  puppet,  —  they  had  ne'er 

Fostered  the  wretch  who  stung  me !    What  I  suffer 

Has  reached  me  through  my  pity  for  the  People  • 

That  many  know,  and  they  who  know  not  yet 

Will  one  day  learn  ;  meantime,  I  do  devote, 

Whaie'er  the  issue,  my  last  days  of  life,  — 

My  present  power,  such  as  it  is ;  not  that 

Of  Doge,  but  of  a  man  who  has  been  great 

Before  he  was  degraded  to  a  Doge, 

And  still  has  individual  means  and  mind ;  — 

I  stake  my  fame  (and  I  had  fame),  —  my  breath 

(The  least  of  all,  for  its  last  hours  are  nigh),  — 

My  heart,  my  hope,  my  soul,  upon  this  cast ! 

Such  as  I  am,  I  offer  me  to  you, 

And  to  your  chiefs.    Accept  me  or  reject  me,  — 

A  prince  who  fain  would  be  a  citizen 

Or  nothing,  and  who  has  left  his  throne  to  be  so ! 


9.  DYING  SPEECH  OF  MARINO  E ALIERO.  —  Zord  Byrow. 

I  SPEAK  to  Time  and  to  Eternity, 
Of  which  I  grow  a  portion,  not  to  man. 
Ye  elements  !  in  which  to  be  resolved 
I  hasten,  let  my  voice  be  as  a  spirit 
Upon  you  !    Ye  blue  waves  !  which  bore  my  bannei 
Yo  winds  !  which  fiuttered  o'er  ^  if  jou  loved  it. 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  BYRON. 


And  filled  my  swelling  sails  as  they  were  wafted 

To  many  a  triumph  !    Thou,  my  native  earth, 

Wfiicn  I  have  bled  for  ;  and  thou  foreign  earth, 

Which  drank  this  willing  blood  from  many  a  wound 

Ye  stones,  in  which  my  gore  will  not  sink,  but 

Keek  up  to  Heaven !    Ye  skies  which  will  receive  it 

Thou  sun !  which  shinest  on  these  things  ;  and  Thoii» 

Who  kindlest  and  who  quenchest  suns  !  — Attest 

I  am  not  innocent,  —  but,  are  these  guiltless  ? 

I  perish,  but  not  unavenged ;  far  ages 

Float  up  from  the  abyss  of  time  to  be, 

And  show  these  eyes,  before  they  close,  the  doom 

Of  this  proud  city  ;  and  I  leave  my  curse 

On  her  and  hers  forever  !  —  Yes,  the  hours 

Are  silently  engendering  of  the  day 

When  she,  who  built  'gainst  Attila  a  bulwark, 

Shall  yield,  and  bloodiessly  and  basely  yield, 

Unto  a  bastard  Attiia,  without 

Shedding  so  much  blood  in  her  last  defence 

As  these  old  veins,  oft  drained  in  shielding  her, 

Shall  pour  in  sacrifice.    She  shall  be  bought 

And  sold,  and  be  an  appanage  to  those 

Who  shall  despise  her  !    She  shall  stoop  to  be 

A  province  for  an  empire  ;  petty  town 

In  lieu  of  capital,  with  slaves  for  Senates, 

Beggars  for  Nobles,  panders  for  a  People  ! 

Then,  when  the  Hebrew 's  in  thy  palaces. 

The  Hun  in  thy  high  places,  and  the  Greek 

Walks  o'er  thy  mart,  and  smiles  on  it  for  his,  — 

When  thy  Patricians  beg  their  bitter  bread 

In  narrow  streets,  and  in  their  shameful  need 

Make  their  nobility  a  plea  for  pity,  — ■ 

When  all  the  ills  of  conquered  States  shall  cling  thee 

Vice  without  splendor,  sin  without  relief,  — 

When  these,  and  more,  are  heavy  on  thee,  — -  when 

Smiles  without  mirth,  and  pastimes  without  pleasure, 

Youth  without  honor,  age  without  respect, 

Meanness  and  weakness,  and  a  sense  of  woe, 

'Gainst  which  thou  wilt  not  strive,  and  dar'st  not  munxmr 

Have  made  thee  last  and  worst  of  peopled  deserts,  - 

Then,  in  the  last  gasp  of  thine  agony, 

Amidst  thy  many  murders,  think  of  mine  / 

Thou  den  of  drunkards  with  the  blood  of  princes ! 

Gehenna  of  the  waters  !  thou  sea  Sodom  ! 

Thus  I  devote  thee  to  the  infernal  Gods ! 

Thee  and  thy  serpent  seed  !  — 

Slave,  do  thme  offioe 


480 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEH, 


Strike,  as  I  struck  the  foe  !    Strike,  as  I  would 
Have  struck  these  tyrants  !    Strike  deep  as  my  curse ! 
Strike,  and  but  once ' 


le  CATILINE  TO  HIS  FRIENDS,  AFTER  FAILING  IN  HIS  ELECTION  TO  fEB 
CONSULSHIP.  — i^ew.  George  Croly. 

Are  there  not  times,  Patricians,  when  great  States 
Rush  to  their  ruin  ?    Rome  is  no  more  like  Rome, 
Than  a  foul  dungeon 's  like  the  glorious  sky. 
What  is  she  now  ?    Degenerate,  gross,  defiled  , 
The  tainted  haunt)  the  gorged  receptacle, 
Of  every  slave  and  vagabond  of  earth  : 
A  mighty  grave  that  Luxury  has  dug. 
To  rid  the  other  realms  of  pestilence  ! 

Ye  wait  to  hail  me  Consul  ? 
Consul !  Look  on  me,  —  on  this  brow,  —  these  hands 
Look  on  this  bosom,  black  with  early  wounds ; 
Have  I  not  served  the  State  from  boyhood  up. 
Scattered  my  blood  for  her,  labored  for,  loved  her  ? 
/had  no  chance  ;  wherefore  should  /  be  Consul? 
No.    Cicero  still  is  master  of  the  crowd. 
Why  not  ?    He 's  made  for  them,  and  they  for  hia 
They  want  a  sycophant,  and  he  wants  slaves. 
Well,  let  h]m  have  them  ! 

Patricians  !    They  have  pushed  me  to  the  gulf  > 
I  have  worn  down  my  heart,  wasted  my  means, 
Humbled  my  birth,  bartered  my  ancient  name. 
For  the  rank  favor  of  the  senseless  mass, 
Tliat  frets  and  festers  in  your  Commonwealth,  — 
And  now  — 

The  very  men  with  whom  1  walked  through  life, 
Nay,  till  within  this  hour,  in  all  the  bonds 
Of  courtesy  and  high  companionship. 
This  day,  as  if  the  Heavens  had  stamped  me  blacks 
Turned  on  their  heel,  just  at  the  point  of  fate, 
Ijeft  me  a  mockery  in  the  rabble's  midst. 
And  followed  their  Plebeian  Consul,  Cicero  ! 
This  was  the  day  to  which  I  looked  through  life, 
A  nd  it  has  failed  me  —  vanished  from  my  grasp, 
Like  air  ! 

Roman  no  more  !    The  rabble  of  the  streets 
Have  seen  me  humbled  ;  slaves  may  gibe  at  mo  * 
For  all  the  ills 

That  chance  or  nature  lays  upon  our  heads, 
In  chance  or  nature  there  is  found  a  cure ! 
But  se//-abasenicnt  is  beyond  all  cure  ! 


ftlEETOKXAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  CKOLY.  i^i 

The  brand  is  here,  burned  in  the  living  flesh, 

That  bears  its  mark  to  the  grave  ;  that  dagger 's  plunged 

Into  the  central  pulses  of  the  heart ; 

The  act  is  the  mind's  suicide,  for  which 

There  is  no  after-health,  no  hope,  no  pardon  ! 


11.  CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE. -i2et,.  George  Croly. 

"  Tried  and  convicted  traitor !    Go  from  Eome  '  " 

"  He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline," 
terminates  fie  scene  wifh  hi   J  ^       ^.  '^^ffled,  catches  at  tlie  word  "  traitor,"  and 

Conscript  Fathers  ! 
I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words ; 
Let  that  Plebeian  talk ;  't  is  not  m^j  trade ; 
^ut  here  I  stand  for  right,  —  let  him  show  proofs,  — 
^or  Roinan  right ;  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
10  take  their  share  with  me.    Ay,  cluster  there ! 
Oiing  to  your  master,  judges,  Romans,  slaves/ 
His  charge  is  false ;  —  I  dare  him  to  his  proofs, 
lou  have  my  answer.    Let  my  actions  speak  ! 

^ut  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned, 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrono- ' 
Who  brands  mo  on  the  forehead,  breai^s  my  sword, 
Ur  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
prongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
-the  gates  of  honor  on  me,  —  turning  out 
Ihe  Roman  from  his  birthright;  and,  for  what  ? 

flmn.  TT^,,^  ^ffi     ^  [Looking  round  him. 

10  nmg  your  offices  to  every  slave ! 

Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb 

And  havmg  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top, 

Ut  this  huge,  mouldering  monument  of  Rome, 

Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below  ' 

Come,  consecrated  Lictors,  from  your  thrones; 

Fling  down  your  sceptres ;  take  the  rod  and  l^^ 
And  make  the  nmrder  as  you  make  the  law  ! 

Frn^fY  ^"'"^  ?T;  b'-^^^^h^d,  but  set  free 

From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  i 
31 


TUE  STANDARD  SPEAKEE. 


"  Tried  and  convicted  traitor  !  "    Wlio  says  this  ) 
Who  '11  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  ? 
Banished  !  I  thank  you  for 't.    It  breaks  my  chain ! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour ; 
But  now  my  sword 's  my  own,    Smile  on,  my  Lords  ! 
'   I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs^ 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you  !  here,  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face ! 
Your  Consul 's  merciful.  —  For  this,  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline  ! 

"  Traitor  !  "    I  go  ;  but,  I  return.    This  —  trial ! 
Here  I  devote  your  Senate  !    I 've  had  wrongs 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 
Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 
This  day 's  the  birth  of  sorrow  !    This  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions  !    Look  to  your  hearths,  my  Lords ! 
For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods. 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  I  —  all  shames  and  crimes 
Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn  ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup  ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe. 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  Thrones ; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  Night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. 

I  go  ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone. 
I  go ;  but,  when  I  come,  't  will  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake,  —  rolling  back 
In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.    Fare  you  well  I 
You  build  my  funeral-pile ;  but  your  best  blood 
Shall  quench  its  flame !    Back,  slaves!   [To  the  Lictor$,'\  1 
will  return . 


12.   PRIDE  OE  ANCESTRY.  —  Adaptation  from  Rev.  George  Croly. 

My  lack  of  noble  blood  !    Then  that 's  the  bar 
Disqualifies  my  suit !  —  makes  perjury  _ 
Of  slight  account  against  me  !    I'm  untitled  ' 
Parchments  and  money-bags  have  precedence 
In  Cupid's  Court,  as  elsewhere  !    Sir,  your  daughter  — 
But  I'll  not  stoop  my  free,  recovered  heart, 
To  play  the  mendicant !    Farewell  to  love  : 
Henceforth,  let  venerable  oaths  of  men. 
And  women's  vows,  though  all  the  stars  of  Heaven 
Were  listening,  be  forgotten,  —  light  as  dust ! 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  CAMPBELL 


183 


True,  trae,  —  I  should  have  learnt  humility  : 

True,  I  am  nothing  :  nothing  have  —  but  hope ' 

I  have  no  ancient  birth',  —  no  heraldry  ;  — 

No  motley  coat  is  daubed  upon  my  shield  ; 

I  cheat  no  rabble,  like  your  charlatans, 

By  flinging  dead  men's  dust  in  idiots'  eyes 

I  work  no  miracles  with  buried  bones ; 

I  belt  no  broken  and  distempered  shape 

With  shrivelled  parchments  plucked  from  mouldy  shelvea  ; 

Yet,  if  I  stooped  to  talk  of  ancestry, 

I  had  an  ancestor,  as  old  and  noble 

As  all  their  quarterings  reckon,  —  mine  was  Adam 

Tho  man  who  gave  me  being,  though  no  Lo»-d 

Was  nature's  nobleman,  —  an  honest  man  ! 

And  proudei  <„m  I,  at  this  hour,  to  stand, 

Unpedestalled,  but  on  his  lowly  grave, 

Than  if  I  towered  upon  a  monument 

High  as  the  clouds  with  rotten  infamy  ! 


13.    LOCHIIL'S  WARNING.  —  Thomas  CampbrU 

n/'ti'*'!?'  *  Highland  chieftain,  ivhile  on  his  march  to  join  the  Pretender,  is  met  by  o?«e  Oh 
uign-ancl  seers,  or  prophets,  who  -arns  him  to  return,  and  not  incur  the  ccrt'^in  irw.  niskdk 
»wait3  tHe  unfortunate  prince  and  his  foUowers,  on  the  field  of  Culloden. 

Seer.   Lochiel,  Lochiel,  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array ! 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  (Julloden  are  scattered  in  fight : 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  country  and  Crown 
Woe,  woe,  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down ! 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain, 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark  !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war, 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 
'T  is  thine,  0  Glenullin  !  whose  bride  shall  await. 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-fire,  all  night  at  the  gate 
A  steed  comes  at  morning  :  no  rider  is  there  ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sig|i  Of  despair ' 
Weep,  Albin  !  to  death  and  captivity  led  ! 
0  !  weep  !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave  — 
Culloden,  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave  ! 

Lochiel.   Go  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-tellirg  seer 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear. 
Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight. 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  friglt  \ 

Seer.  ^  Ha  !  .augh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scoin  » 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  torn  ' 
Sa-,  rusho  I  the  bold  eagle  exultinglj  forth 


THE  STANDARD  St£AKElv. 


From  liis  borne  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  North  ? 
Lo  !  the  death-shot  of  foemen  out-speeding,  he  rode 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad  ; 
But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  hi^h  ' 
Ah  !  home  let  him  speed,  for  the  spoiler  is  nigh- 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?    Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 
'T  is  the  fire-shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  his  eyry,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  Heaven. 
0,  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might, 
Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height, 
Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn  ; 
Return  to  thy  dwelling  !  all  lonely  return  ! 
For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 
And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood ! 

Lochiel   False  wizard,  avaunt !  I  have  marshalled  my  dan 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  —  their  bosoms  are  one ! 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock  ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock 

But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause, 

When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ! 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 

Clanranald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud, 

All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array  — 
Seer.   Lochiel !  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day  ! 

For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal. 

But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal. 

"T  is  the  suDset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore. 

And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 

1  tell  thee,  Culloden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  King 

Lo  !  anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 

Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! 

Now  in  darkness  and  billows  he  sweeps  from  my  sight  , 

Rise  !  rise  !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight !  — 

'T  is  finished.    Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moara 

CuUoden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores. 

But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  ?    Where  ? 

For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 

Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean-wave,  banished,  forlorn. 

Like  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn ' 

Ah  !  no  ;  for  a  darker  departure  is  near  ; 

The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black  is  the  bier , 

His  death-bell  is  tolling  ;  0  !  mercy,  disi)cl 

Yon  sight,  that  it  freezea  my  spirit  to  tell  ! 

Life  flutters,  convulsed,  in  his  quivering  limbs 


KHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC-  TAYLOE. 


4^ 


And  his  blood-streamicg  nostril  in  agonj  swims ! 
Accursed  be  the  fagots  that  blaze  at  his  feet, 
Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown,  ere  it  ceases  to  beat, 
With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale  — 

Lochiel.   Down,  soothless  insulter  !    I  trust  not  the  tale  ' 
For  never  shall  Albin  a  destiny  meet 
So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat, 
Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strewed  in  their  gore 
Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten  shore 
Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 
While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 
Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low, 
With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe ! 
And,  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name. 
Look  proudly  to  Heaven  fi-om  the  death-bed  of  fame ' 


'HILIP  VAN  ARTEVELDE'S  DEFENCE  OF  HIS  REBELLION.  -    Henry  Tmkff 

You  speak  of  insurrections  :  bear  in  mind 
Against  what  rule  my  father  and  myself 
Have  been  insurgent ;  whom  did  we  supplant  ?  — 
There  was  a  time,  so  ancient  records  tell. 
There  were  communities,  scarce  known  by  name 
In  these  degenerate  days,  but  once  far-famed, 
Where  liberty  and  justice,  hand  in  hand. 
Ordered  the  common  weal ;  where  great  men  grew 
Up  to  their  natural  eminence,  and  none. 
Saving  the  wise,  just,  eloquent,  were  great. 
Whom  may  we  noio  call  free  ?  whom  great  ?  whom  wise  ? 
Whom  innocent  ?  —  the  free  are  only  they 
Whom  power  makes  free  to  execute  all  ills 

Their  hearts  imagine  ;  they  are  only  great         '  ^^^^ 

Whose  passions  nurse  them  from  their  cradles  up 

In  luxury  and  lewdness,  —  whom  to  see 

Is  to  despise,  whose  aspects  put  to  scorn 

Their  station's  eminence  ;  the  wise,  they  only 

Who  wait  obscurely  till  the  bolts  of  Heaven 

Shall  break  upon  the  land,  and  give  them  light 

Whereby  to  walk ;  the  innocent,  alas  ! 

Poor  Innocency  lies  where  four  roads  meet, 

A  stone  upon  her  head,  a  stake  driven  through  her 

For  who  is  innocent  that  cares  to  live  ? 

The  hand  of  power  doth  press  the  very  life 

Of  Innocency  out 

What,  then,  remains. 
But  in  the  cause  of  nature  to  stand  forth, 
And  turn  this  franw  if  things  the  right  side  up  » 


THIS  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 

For  this  the  hour  is  come,  the  sword  is  drawn, 
And  tell  your  masters  vainly  they  resist. 
Nature,  that  slept  beneath  their  poisonous  drugs, 
Is  up  and  stirring,  and  from  north  and  south, 
From  east  and  west,  from  England  and  from  France, 
From  Germany,  and  Flanders,  and  Navarre, 
Shall  stand  against  them  like  a  beast  at  bay. 
The  blood  that  they  have  shed  will  hide  no  longer 
In  the  blood-sloken  soil,  but  cries  to  Heaven. 
Their  cruelties  and  wrongs  against  the  poor 
Shall  quicken  into  swarms  of  venomous  snakes, 
And  hiss  through  all  the  earth,  till  o'er  the  earth, 
That  ceases  then  from  hissings  and  from  groans, 
Rises  the  song  —  How  are  the  mighty  fallen  ! 
And  by  the  peasant's  hand !    Low  lie  the  proud  ! 
And  smitten  with  the  weapons  of  the  poor  — 
The  blacksmith's  hammer  and  the  woodman's  axe  ! 
Their  tale  is  told  ;  and  for  that  they  were  rich, 
And  robbed  the  poor  ;  and  for  that  they  were  strong, 
And  scourged  the  weak  ;  and  for  that  they  made  laws 
Which  turned  the  sweat  of  labor's  brow  to  blood,  — 
For  these  their  sins  the  nations  cast  them  out ! 

These  things  come  to  pass 
From  small  beginnings,  because  Grod  is  just. 


DUTl  TO  ONE'S  COUNTRY.  —  HannaA  More.    Born,  1744;  d»(d  ISSft 

Our  country  is  a  whole,  my  Publius, 
Of  which  we  all  are  parts ;  nor  should  a  citizen 
Kegard  his  interests  as  distinct  from  hers  ; 
No  hopes  or  fears  should  touch  his  patriot  soul, 
"But  what  affect  her  honor  or  her  shame. 
E'en  when  in  hostile  fields  he  bleeds  to  save  her, 
'T  is  not  his  blood  he  loses,  't  is  his  country's ; 
He  only  pays  her  ba  .k  a  debt  he  owes. 
To  her  he 's  bound  for  birth  and  education ; 
Her  laws  secure  him  from  domestic  feuds, 
And  from  the  foreign  foe  her  arms  protect  him. 
She  lends  him  honors,  dignity,  and  rank, 
His  wrongs  revenges,  and  his  merit  pays ; 
And,  like  a  tender  and  indulgent  mother, 
Loads  him  with  comforts,  and  would  make  his  state 
As  blessed  as  nature  and  the  godr  designed  it. 
Such  gifts,  my  son,  have  their  alloy  of  pain. 
And  let  the  unworthy  wretch,  who  will  not  bear 
His  portion  of  the  public  burthen,  lose 
The  advantages  it  yields  ;  —  let  him  retire 
From  tne  dear  blessings  of  a  social  life 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAM_,TIC.  -  -  KNOWLES. 


487 


And  from  ihe  sacred  laws  which  guard  those  blessings. 

Renounce  the  civilized  abodes  of  man, 

With  kindred  brutes  one  common  shelter  seefe 

In  horrid  wilds,  and  dens,  and  dreary  caves, 

And  with  their  shaggy  tenants  share  the  spoil ; 

Or,  if  the  shaggy  hunters  miss  their  prey, 

From  scattered  acorns  pick  a  scanty  meal ;  — 

Far  from  the  sweet  civilities  of  life, 

There  lot  him  live,  and  vaunt  his  wretched  freedcm, 

While  we,  obedient  to  the  laws  that  guard  us,  ' 

Guard  them,  and  live  or  die,  as  they  decree. 


16.  ST.  PIERRE  TO  FERRAIIDO.  Tames  Sheridan  Knowles. 

8t  Pierre,  having  possessed  himself  of  Ferrardo's  dagger,  compels  him  to  sign  a  ccafrsslo* 
itxa  hm  own  lips,  of  his  villany. 

Know  you  me,  Duke  ?   Know  you  the  peasant  boy, 
Whom,  fifteen  years  ago,  in  evil  hour. 
You  chanced  to  cross  upon  his  native  hills,  — 
tn  whose  quick  eye  you  saw  the  subtle  spirit, 
Which  suited  you,  and  tempted  it  ?    He  took 
Your  hint,  and  followed  you  to  Mantua 
Without  his  father's  knowledge,  —  his  old  father, 
Who,  thinking  that  he  had  a  prop  in  him 
Man  could  not  rob  him  of,  and  Heaven  would  spare, 
Blessed  him  one  night,  ere  he  lay  down  to  sleep, 
And,  wakinoj  in  the  morning,  found  him  gone ! 

[Ferrardo  tries  to  n$€ 
Move  not,  or  I  shall  move  !    You  know  me. 
0,  yes !  you  trained  me  Hke  a  cavalier,  — 
You  did,  indeed  !    You  gave  me  masters,  Duke, 
And  their  instructions  quickly  I  took  up, 
As  they  did  lay  them  down  !    T  got  the  start 
Of  my  cotemporaries  !  —  not  a  youth 
Of  whom  could  read,  write,  speak,  command  a  weapop 
Or  rule  a  horse,  with  me  !    You  gave  me  all,  — 
All  the  equipments  of  a  man  of  honor,  — 
But  you  did  find  a  use  for  me,  and  made 
A  slave,  a  profligate,  a  pander,  of  me !        [Ferrardf  ^ang. 
I  charge  you  keep  your  seat !  — 
Ten  thousand  ducats  ? 

What  Duke  !    Is  such  your  offer  ?    Give  me,  Duke- 
The  eyes  that  looked  upon  my  father's  face. 
The  hands  that  helped  my  father  to  his  wish, 
The  feet  that  fl^^w  to  do  my  father's  will, 

The  heait  that  bounded  at  my  father's  voice,  

And  say  that  Mantua  were  built  of  ducats, 
And  I  could  be  its  Duke  at  cost  of  these 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


I  would  not  give  them  for  it !    Mark  me,  Duke  : 

I  saw  a  new-made  grave  in  Mantua, 

And  on  the  head-stone  read  my  father  s  name  '  — 

To  seek  me,  doubtless,  hither  he  had  come,  — 

To  seek  tlie  child  that  had  deserted  him,  — 

And  died  here,  ere  he  found  me. 

Heaven  can  tell  how  far  he  wandered  else ! 

Upon  that  grave  I  knelt  an  altered  man, 

And,  rising  thence,  I  fled  from  Mantua ;  —  nor  nad  retumc-d 

But  tyrant  hunger  drove  me  back  again 

To  thee  —  to  thee  !  —  my  body  to  relieve, 

At  cost  of  my  dear  soul !    I  have  done  thy  work,  — 

Do  mine  !  and  sign  me  that  confession  straight. 

I 'm  in  thy  power,  and  I  '11  have  thee  in  mine  ! 

There  is  the  dial,  and  the  sun  shines  on  it,  — 

The  shadow  on  the  very  point  of  twelve,  — 

My  case  is  desperate  !    Your  signature 

Of  vital  moment  is  unto  my  peace  ! 

My  eye  is  on  the  dial !    Pass  the  shadow 

The  point  of  noon,  the  breadth  of  but  a  hair, 

As  can  my  eye  discern  —  and,  that  unsigned, 

The  steel  is  in  thy  heart !  —  I  speak  no  more  ! 


WILLIAM  TELL  ON  SWITZERLAND.  —  Adaptation  from  J.  S  Knm  « 

Once  Switzerland  was  free !  With  what  a  pride 
I  used  to  walk  these  hills,  —  look  up  to  Heaven, 
And  bless  God  that  it  was  so !    It  was  free 
From  end  to  end,  from  clilF  to  lake 't  was  free ! 
Eree  as  our  torrents  are,  that  leap  our  rocks. 
And  plough  our  valleys,  without  asking  leave  ; 
Or  as  our  peaks,  that  wear  their  caps  of  snow 
In  very  presence  of  the  regal  sun  !  / 
How  happy  was  I  in  it,  then  !    I  loved  / 
Its  very  storms.    Ay,  often  have  I  sat 
In  my  boat  at  night,  when  midway  o'er  the  lake, 
The  stars  went  out,  and  down  the  mountain  gorge 
The  wind  came  roaring,  —  I  have  sat  and  eyed 
The  thunder  breaking  from  his  cloud,  and  smiled 
To  see  him  shake  his  lightnings  o'er  my  head, 
And  think  I  had  no  master  save  his  own. 

You  know  the  jutting  clilf,  round  which  a  track 
Up  hither  winds,  whose  base  is  but  the  brow 
To  such  another  one,  with  scanty  room 
For  two  a-breast  to  pass  ?    O'er  taken  there 
By  the  mountain  blast,  I 've  laid  me  flat  along 
And  while  gust  followed  gust  more  furiously, 
Vs  if  to  sweep  me  o'er  the  horrid  brink, 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  BRUEYS. 


481, 


And  I  have  thought  of  other  lands,  whose  storins 

Are  summer  flaws  to  those  of  mine,  and  just 

Have  wished  me  there;  —  the  thought  that  mine  was  free 

Has  checked  that  wish,  and  I  have  raised  my  head, 

And  cried  in  thraldom  to  that  furious  wind, 

Blow  on  !    This  is  the  land  of  liberty  ! 


IS.  WlLLIAM  TELL  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS-  —J.  S.  Knowleg 

Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I 'm  with  you  once  again ! 
I  hold  to  you  the  hands  you  first  beheld. 
To  show  they  still  are  free.    Methinks  I  hear 
A  spirit  in  your  echoes  answer  me, 
And  bid  your  tenant  welcome  to  his  home 
Again  !  —  0  sacred  forms,  how  proud  you  look ! 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky ! 
How  huge  you  are !  how  mighty,  and  how  free  ! 
Ye  are  the  things  that  tower,  that  shine,  —  whose  smile 
Makes  glad,  whose  frown  is  terrible,  whose  forms, 
Robed  or  unrobed,  do  all  the  ir/tpress  wear 
Of  awe  divine.    Ye  guards 
I 'm  with  you  once  again  !  —  I  call  to  you 
With  all  my  voice !  —  I  hold  mj  hands  to  you, 
To  show  they  still  are  free.    I  rush  to  you 
As  though  I  could  embrace  you  ! 

 Scaling  yonder  peak, 

I  saw  an  eagle  wheeling  near  its  brow 

O'er  the  abyss  :  —  his  broad -expanded  wings 

Lay  calm  and  motionless  upon  the  air, 

As  if  he  floated  there  without  their  aid, 

By  the  sole  act  of  his  unlorded  will^ 

That  buoyed  him  proudly  up.  Instinctively 

I  bent  my  bow  ;  yet  kept  he  rounding  still 

His  airy  circle,  as  in  the  delight 

Of  measuring  the  ample  range  beneath 

And  round  about;  absorbed, he  heeded  not 

The  death  that  threatened  him.  I  could  not  shoot   

'T  was  liberty  !  —  I  turned  my  bow  aside, 
And  let  him  soar  away  ! 


19.  THE  FRACTIOUS  MAN. -Original  Translation  from  Brutys. 

Monsieur  Grichard.  Blockhead  !  Would  you  keep  me  knookins 
Iwo  hours  at  the  door  ? 

Lolive,  I  was  at  work.  Sir,  in  the  garden.  At  the  first  sound  of 
the  knocker,  I  ran  to  answer  it  with  such  haste,  as  to  fall  down  on 
the  way. 

M.  Gri.   A  great  pity  it  was  you  didn't  break  your  neck,  boobv 
Why  did  n't  you  I'^ave  the  door  open  ? 


490 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Lot.  "Why,  Sir,  you  scolded  me,  yesterday,  because  I  did  so  WlieE 
;t  is  open,  you  storm  about  it.  When  it  is  shut,  you  storm  about  it  just 
the  same.    I  should  like  to  know  what  to  do. 

M.  Gri.    What  to  do,  sirrah  ?    What  to  do,  did  you  say  ? 

Lot  0,  come  now,  master,  how  would  you  have  it  ?  Do  ycu  7n^ 
nae  to  leave  the  door  open  ? 

M.  Gri.  No. 

Lol     Do  you  wish  me  to  keep  it  shut  ? 
M.  Gri.  No! 

Lol.    But,  Sir;  it  must  be  either  open  or  — 
M:  Gri.    What,  rascal,  what !     Do  you  presume  to  argue  thft 
point  ? 

Lol.    But  does  n't  it  hold  to  reason  — 
M.  Gri.    Silence  ! 

Lol.  I  say,  Sir,  that  a  door  must  be  either  open  or  shut.  Now, 
how  will  you  have  it  ? 

M.  Gri.  I  have  told  you,  a  thousand  times,  you  scoundiv  I,  —  I 
have  told  you,  I  wished  it  —  wished  it  —  but  confound  your  impu- 
dence, Sir  !  Is  it  for  you  to  ask  questions  ?  Let  me  only  lay  hands 
on  you,  I  '11  show  you  how  I  wish  it !  Have  you  swept  tha  stair- 
case ? 

Lol.    Yes,  Sir,  from  top  to  bottom. 
M.  Gri.    And  the  yard  ? 

Lol.  If  you  find  a  bit  of  dirt  there  big  as  a  filbert,  I  'U  forfeit  my 
wages. 

M.  Gri.    You  have  n't  watered  the  mule  ? 

Lol.    Ask  the  neighbors,  who  saw  me  pass,  if  I  have  n't. 

M.  Gri.    Have  you  given  him  his  oats  ? 

Lol    Yes,  Sir.    Ask  William  if  I  have  n't.    He  saw  me  do  it. 

M.  Gri.  But  you  have  n't  taken  those  bottles  of  Peruvian  bark 
where  I  ordered  you  ? 

Lol  Pardon  me,  Sir ;  I  took  them,  and  brought  back  the  empt-v 
bottles. 

M.  Gri.  And  my  letters?  Did  you  take  them  to  the  Post 
Office  ?    Hah  ? 

Lol    Did  n't  I,  though  ?    I  took  good  care  to  do  that ! 

M.  Gri.  You  villain,  you !  A  hundred  times  I  have  forbidden 
you  to  scrape  your  infernal  violin.  Now,  I  heard  you,  this  morn- 
ing — 

L^ol  This  morning  ?  Don't  you  remember  you  smasheS  it  all  to 
pi'^cen  for  me,  yesterday  ^ 

M  Gri.  Humph !  I  '11  lay  a  wager  that  those  two  cords  of 
wood  — 

Lol  The  wood  is  all  sawed,  split,  and  housed,  Sir ;  and  smce  put- 
ting it  in,  I  have  helped  William  get  a  load  of  hay  into  the  barn,  I 
have  watered  all  the  trees  in  the  garden,  dug  over  three  of  the  bed* 
wad  was  digging  another  when  you  knocked. 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  TOWN.  4,^1 

M.  Gri.  0,  I  must  get  rid  of  this  fellow  !  Was  there  ever  such 
2  provoking  scamp  ?  He  will  kill  me  with  vexation.  Away  with 
fou,  Sir  !    Out  of  my  sight ! 


iO   BALTHAZAR  AND  THE  QUACK. -^oAn  Tobin.   Born,  1770  ;  rfietf,  180i 

Balthazar.  And  now,  thou  sketch  and  outline  of  a  man  ' 
Thou  thing,  that  hast  no  shadow  in  the  sur  ' 
Thou  eel  in  a  consumption,  eldest  born 
Of  Death  on  Famine  !  thou  anatomy 
Of  a  starved  pilchard  !  — 

i^uack.  I  do  confess  my  leanness.    I  am  spare, 
And  therefore  spare  me !    Man,  you  know,  must  live' 

Ball.  Yes  ;  he  must  die,  too. 

Quack.  For  my  patients'  sake  ' 
.   Bait.  I  '11  send  you  to  the  major  part  of  them. 
The  window,  Sir,  is  open ;  —  come,  prepare. 

Quack. ^  Pray,  consider.  Sir, 
I  may  hurt  some  one  in  the  street. 

Bait.  Why,  then, 
I  '11  rattle  thee  to  pieces  in  a  dice-box. 
Or  grind  thee  in  a  coffee-mill  to  powder  : 
For  thou  must  sup  with  Pluto  ;  —  so,  make  ready  ! 
Whilst  I,  with  this  good  small-sword  for  a  lancet, 
Let  thy  starved  spirit  out,  —  for  blood  thou  hast  none,  - 
And  nail  thee  t^)  the  wall,  where  thou  shalt  look 
Like  a  dried  beetle  with  a  pin  stuck  through  him. 

Quack.  Consider  my  poor  wife ! 

Bait.  Thy  wife  ! 

Quack.  My  wife.  Sir. 

Bait.  Hast  thou  dared  to  think  of  matrimony,  too  ? 
No  conscience,  and  take  a  wife ! 

Quack.  I  have  a  wife,  and  three  angelic  babes, 
Who,  by  those  looks,  are  well-nigh  fatherless! 

■  Bait.  Well,  well,  your  wife  and  children  shall  plead  for  you 
Come,  come,  the  pills !  where  are  the  pills  ?  produce  them 

Quack.  Here  is  the  box. 

Ball.  Were  it  Pandora's,  and  each  single  pill 
Had  ten  diseases  in  it,  you  should  take  them. 

Quack.  What,  all  ? 

Bait.  Ay,  all ;  -  and  quickly,  too ;  —  come,  Sir,  begin 
That 's  well ;  —  another. 

Quack.  One 's  a  dose ! 

Bait.  Proceed,  Sir. 

Quack.  What  will  become  of  me  ? 
I  do  beseech  you  let  me  have  some  drink, 
Some  cooling  liquid  Sir,  to  wash  them  down ' 


i92 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER 


Bait,  0,  yes  —  produce  the  vial ! 
Quack.  Mercy  on  me ' 

Bait.  Come,  Sir,  your  new  invented  patent  draught 
You 've  tried  it  on  a  dog  ;  so  there 's  no  danger. 

Quack.  If  you  have  any  mercy  think  of  ms  ' 
'  Bait.  Nay,  no  demur ! 

Quack.  May  I  entreat  to  make  my  will  first  ? 

Bait.  No ;  you  have  naught  but  physic  to  bequeath 
And  that  no  one  will  take,  though  you  should  leave  it. 

Quack.  Just  to  step  home,  and  see  my  wife  and  chil  iren 

Bait.  No,  Sir. 

Quack.  Let  me  go  home  and  set  my  shop  to  righi^j, 
And,  like  immortal  Caesar,  die  with  decency  ! 

Bait.  Away,  and  thank  thy  lucky  star  I  have  not 
Brayed  thee  in  thine  own  mortar,  or  exposed  thee 
For  a  large  specimen  of  the  lizard  genus. 

Quack.  Would  I  were  one !  for  they  can  feed  on  air. 

Bali.  Home,  Sir,  and  be  more  honest  I  {Exit.} 

Quack.  If  I  am  not, 
I  '11  be  more  wise,  at  least !  \^Exit.'\ 


21.  BRUTUS  AND  'LJm^.— Nathaniel  Lee. 

rhere  are  some  noble  touches  in  the  following  dialogue,  from  Lee's  tragedy  of  "Luciui 
Jtimus  Brutus,"  although  from  the  pen  of  a  poet  who  mingled  the  extravagance  of  a  madman 
With  the  inspirations  of  genius.  Lee  was  born  in  Hertfordshire,  England,  in  1651,  and  died  u 
16©2.    He  was  for  some  time  confined  in  a  mad-house,  being  for  nearly  four  years  a  raTinU 

Brutus.  Well,  Titus,  speak  ;  how  is  it  with  thee  now  ? 
I  would  attend  a  while  this  mighty  motion. 
Wait  till  the  tempest  were  quite  overblown. 
That  I  might  take  thee  in  the  calm  of  nature, 
With  all  thy  gentler  virtues  brooding  on  thee : 
So  hushed  a  stillness,  as  if  all  the  gods 
Looked  down  and  listened  to  what  we  were  saying : 
Speak,  then,  and  tell  me,  0  my  best  beloved. 
My  son,  my  Titus  !  is  all  well  again? 

Titus.  So  well,  that  saying  how  must  make  it  nothing , 
So  well,  that  I  could  wish  to  die  this  moment. 
For  60  my  heart,  with  powerful  throbs,  persuades  me 
That  were  indeed  to  make  you  reparation ; 
That  were,  my  Lord,  to  thank  you  home  —  to  die ' 
And  that,  for  Titus,  too,,  would  be  most  happy. 

Brutus.  How 's  that,  my  son  ?  would  death  for  thee  b«  happj 

Titus.  Most  certain.  Sir ;  for  in  my  grave  I  'scape 
All  those  afironts  which  I,  in  life,  must  look  for ; 
All  those  reproaches  which  the  eyes,  the  fingers, 
And  tongues  of  Rome,  will  daily  cast  upon  me , 
Jrom  whonv  to  a  soul  so  sensible  as  mine. 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC  —  LEB. 


Each  single  scorn  would  be  far  worse  than  dying. 
15esides,  I  'Scape  the  stings  of  my  own  conscience, 
Which  will  forever  rack  nie  with  remembrance, 
Haunt  me  by  day,  and  torture  me  by  night. 
Casting  my  blotted  honor  in  the  way, 
Where'er  my  melancholy  thoughts  shall  guide  me. 
Brutus.  But,  is  not  death  a  very  dreadful  thing? 
Titus.  Not  to  a  mind  resolved.    No,  Sir  ;  to  me 
It  seems  as  natural  as  to  be  born. 
Grroans  and  convulsions,  and  discolored  faces, 
Friends  weeping  round  us,  crapes,  and  obsequies. 
Make  it  a  dreadful  thing ;  the  pomp  of  death 
Is  far  more  terrible  than  death  itself, 
Yes,  Sir  ;  I  call  the  powers  of  Heaven  to  witness, 
Titus  dares  die,  if  so  you  have  decreed ; 
Nay,  he  shall  die  with  joy  to  honor  Brutus. 

Brutus.  Thou  perfect  glory  of  the  Junian  race ! 
Let  me  endear  thee  once  more  to  my  bosom, 
Groan  an  eternal  farewell  to  thy  soul ; 
Instead  of  tears,  weep  blood,  if  possible ;  — 
Blood,  the  heart-blood  of  Brutus,  on  his  child ' 
For  thou  must  die,  my  Titus  ;  die,  my  son  ! 
I  swear,  the  gods  have  doomed  thee  to  the  grave. 
The  violated  genius  of  thy  country 
Bares  his  sad  head,  and  passes  sentence  on  thee. 
This  morning  sun,  that  lights  thy  sorrows  on 
To  the  tribunal  of  this  horrid  vengeance, 
Shall  never  see  thee  more ! 

Titus.  Alas!  my  Lord, 

Why  art  thou  moved  thus?    Why  am  I  worth  thy  Borrow' 
Why  should  the  godlike  Brutus  shake  to  doom  me  ? 
Why  all  these  trappings  for  a  traitor's  hearse  ? 
The  gods  will  have  it  so. 

Brutus.  They  will,  my  Titus ; 

Nor  Heaven  nor  earth  can  have  it  otherwise 
Nay,  Titus,  mark  !  the  deeper  that  I  search, 
My  harassed  soul  returns  the  more  confirmed. 
Methinks  I  see  the  very  hand  of  Jove 

Moving  the  dreadful  wheels  of  this  affair,  

Like  a  machine,  they  whirl  thee  to  thy  fate. 

It  seems  as  if  the  gods  had  preordained  it, 

To  fix  the  reeling  spirits  of  the  People, 

And  settle  the  loose  liberty  of  Rome. 

'T  is  fixed  ,  0,  therefore,  let  not  fancy  dupe  thee? 

So^  fixed  thy  death,  that 't  is  not  in  the  power 

Of  gods  or  men  to  save  thee  from  the  axe. 

Titus.^The  axe!  0,  Heaven !  must  I,  then,  fall  so  bnselj' 
What !  Chall  I  perish  by  the  common  hangman  ? 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Brutus.  If  thou  deny  me  this,  thou  ^v'st  me  nothing. 
Yes,  Titus,  since  the  gods  have  so  decreed 
That  I  must  lose  thee,  I  will  take  the  advantage 
Of  thy  important  fate  ;  cement  Rome's  flaws, 
And  heal  her  wounded  freedom  with  thy  blood. 
I  will  ascend  myself  the  sad  tribunal. 
And  sit  upon  my  son  —  on  thee,  my  Titus : 
Behold  thee  suffer  all  the  shame  of  death, 
The  lictor's  lashes,  bleed  before  the  people ; 
Then,  with  thy  hopes  and  all  thy  youth  upon  thee, 
See  thy  head  taken  by  the  common  axe. 
Without  a  groan,  without  one  pitying  tear 
(If  that  the  gods  can  hold  me  to  my  purpose). 
To  make  my  justice  quite  transcend  example. 

Titus.  Scourged  like  a  bondman !    Ha !  a  beaten  slave ' 
But  I  deserve  it  all ;  yet,  here  T  fail ; 
The  image  of  this  suffering  quite  unmans  me. 
O,  Sir  !  0,  Brutus  !  must  I  call  you  father, 
Yet  have  no  token  of  your  tenderness  ? 
No  sign  of  mercy  ?    What !  not  bate  me  that  ? 
Can  you  resolve  on  all  the  extremity 
Of  cruel  rigor  ?    To  behold  me,  too ; 
To  sit,  unmoved,  and  see  me  whipped  to  death ! 
Is  this  a  father  ? 

Ah,  Sir,  why  should  you  make  my  heart  suspect 
That  all  your  late  compassion  was  dissembled  ? 
How  can  I  think  that  you  did  ever  love  me  ? 

Brutus.  Think  that  I  love  thee,  by  my  present  passion 
By  these  unmanly  tears,  these  earthquakes  here ; 
These  sighs,  that  twitch  the  very  strings  of  Ufe ; 
Think  that  no  other  cause  on  earth  could  move  me 
To  tremble  thus,  to  sob,  or  shed  a  tear. 
Nor  shake  my  solid  virtue  from  her  point. 
But  Titus'  death.    O,  do  not  call  it  shameful 
That  thus  shall  fix  the  glory  of  the  world. 
I  own  thy  suffering  ought  to  unman  me  thus, 
To  make  me  throw  my  body  on  the  ground, 
To  bellow  like  a  beast,  to  gnaw  the  earth, 
To  tear  my  hair,  to  curse  the  cruel  fates 
That  force  a  father  thus  to  kill  his  child ! 

Titus.  0,  rise,  thou  violated  majesty  ! 
I  now  submit  to  all  your  threatened  vengeance. 
Come  forth,  ye  executioners  of  justice ! 
Nay,  all  ye  lictors,  slaves,  and  common  hangmen, 
Come,  strip  me  bare,  unrobe  me  in  his  sight, 
And  lash  me  till  I  bleed  !    Whip  me,  like  furies ' 
And  when  you  'vc  scourged  me  till  I  foam  and  fall. 


EHETC^RICAL  AND  DRAMy  IIC.  —  SHAKSPEARB  494 

For  want  of  spirits,  grovelling  in  the  dust, 
Then,  take  mj  head,  and  give  it  to  his  justice ;  — 
Bj  all  the  gods,  I  greedily  resign  it ! 


■     OATO'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  IMMORTALITY. —^rf^/zson.    Born,  1672.  A'ei,  WW 

It  must  be  so.  —  Plato,  thou  reasonest  well 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 
This  longing  after  immortality  ? 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 
Of  falling  into  naught  ?    Why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 
'T  is  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us, 
'T  is  Heaven  itself,  that  points  out  an  hereafter. 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 

Eternity  !  —  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought  I 
Through  what  variety  of  untried  being, 
Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass ! 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me ; 
But  shadows,  clouds  and  darkness,  rest  upon  it. 
Here  will  I  hold.    If  there 's  a  Power  above  us,  — 
And  that  there  is,  all  Nature  cries  aloud 
Through  all  her  works,  —  He  must  delight  in  virtue  • 
And  that  which  He  delights  in  must  be  happy. 
But  when  ?  or  where  ?    This  world  was  made  for  Gsmt 
I 'm  weary  of  conjectures,  —  this  must  end  'em; 

Thus  am  I  doubly  armed.    My  death  and  life. 
My  bane  and  antidote,  are  both  before  me. 
This*  in  a  moment  brings  me  to  my  end; 
But  this  t  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secure  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nature  sink  in  years , 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amid  the  war  of  elements. 
The  wreck  of  matter,  a\id  the  crush  of  worlds. 

23.    QUARREL  OF  BRUTUS  AND  QASSIVS. —Shakspear^.. 

Cassius.  That  you  have  wronged  me,  doth  appear  in  thii 

Fou  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 

For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 

Wherein  my  letters  (praying  on  his  side. 

Because  I  knew  the  man)  were  slighted  off. 

Brutus.  You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  sucn  d  case 
Cas.  At  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 

riiat  every  nice  offence  should  be?r  its  comment. 


*  The  dagger. 


t  Plato's  Treatise 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAK. J211 


Bru.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
A.re  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  palm  • 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold, 
To  rndeservers. 

Cos.  I  an  itching  palm  ? 
You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last 

Bru.  The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruptioD 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head 

Cas.  Chastisement! 

Bru.  Remember  March,  the  Ides  of  March  remember 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  vUlain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice  ?  —  What !  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  —  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors 
For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ?  — 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman  ! 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me ! 
I  '11  not  endure  it.    You  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in  :  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru.  Go  to !  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cas.  I  am. 

Bru.  I  say  you  are  not ! 

Cas.  Urge  me  no  more  :  I  shall  forget  myself. 
Have  mind  upon  your  health  ;  tempt  me  no  fiirther! 

Bru.  Away,  slight  man  ! 

Cas.  Is 't  possible  ? 

Bru.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 
Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ^ 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares  ? 

Cas.  Must  I  endure  all  this  ? 

Bru.  All  this  ?  ay,  more  !   Fret  till  your  proud  hea/t  break 
do,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble  !  Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?    Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor  ? 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen. 
Though  it  do  split  you ;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  —  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  arc  was))ish  ! 

Cas.  Is  it  come  to  this  ' 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  SHAKSrEARE. 


497 


Jji  u.  You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier  : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vauntuig  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.    For  mine  own  pan. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.  You  wrong  me  every  way,  you  wrong  me,  BmtUB 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better. 
I*'d  I  say  better  ? 

Bni.  If  you  did,  I  care  not ! 

Cas.  When  Cassar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have  moved  m« 
bru.  Peace,  peace :  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him  • 
Cas.  I  durst  not  ? 
Bru.  No. 

Cas.  What  ?  durst  not  tempt  him  ? 
Bru.  For  your  life,  you  durst  not ' 
Cas.  Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Bru.  You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats  ; 
For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty, 
Tliat  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind. 
Which  I  respect  not.    I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  \^hich  you  denied  me ;  — 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means  : 
By  Heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart. 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wrina 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash 
By  any  indirection  !    I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 
Which  you  denied  me.    Was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
bhould  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 
When  IMarcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts. 
Dash  him  to  pieces  ! 
Cas.  I  denied  you  not. 
Bru.  Ynu  did. 

Cas.  I  did  not :  —  he  was  but  a  fool 
That  brought  my  ansj.'cr  back.  ~  Brutus  hath  rived  my  hear^ 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are 

Brzi.  I  do  not,  till  you  practise  them  on  me. 

Cas.  iou  love  me  not. 

Bru.  I  (lo  not  like  your  faults. 

Cos.  A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  feults. 

J^ru.  A  fl<'tterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cas.  Come,  Antony,  and  youn^:  Octavius,  come! 
KevengG  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 


498 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAK  EB. 


For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world  • 

Hated  by  one  he  loves  ;  braved  by  his  brother  , 

Chocked  like  a  bondman  ;  all  his  faults  observ^'d, 

Set  in  a  note-book,  learned  and  conned  by  rote, 

To  cast  into  my  teeth.    0,  I  could  weep 

'My  spirit  from  mine  eyes  !  —  There  is  my  dagger 

And  here  my  naked  breast ;  within  a  heart 

Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold  , 

If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 

i,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart 

Strike  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar  ;  for  I  know, 

When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lovedst  him  bettei 

Than  ever  thou  lovedst  Cassius  ! 

Bru.  Sheathe  your  dagger  : 
Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope  ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb, 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire  : 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas.  Hath  Cassius  lived 
To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief  and  blood  ill-tempered  vexeth  him  ? 

Bru.  When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-tempered,  too. 

Cas.  Do  you  confess  so  much'    Give  me  your  hand. 

Bru.  And  my  heart,  too. 

Cas.  0  Brutus  !  — 

Bru.  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Cas.  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  mc, 
When  that  rash  humor  which  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful  ? 

Bru.  Yes,  Cassius ;  and  from  henceforth, 
When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He  '11  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 


24.   REGRETS  OF  DRUNKENNESS. —SAaA'Si>eare. 

lagc  What !  be  you  hurt,  Lieutenant  ? 
Cassto.  Past  all  surgery  ! 

lago.  Marry,  Heaven  forbid !  t  i  * 

Cassio.  lleputation  !  reputation  !  reputation!  0,  I  have  .ost  mj 
reputation!  I  have  lost  the  immortal  part  of  myself;  and  what 
remains  is  bestial.    My  reputation,  lago,  my  reputation .  _ 

Ia<'o  As  I  am  an«honest  man,  I  thought  you  had  received  some 
bodily  wound  :  there  is  more  offence  in  that  than  in  reputation,  depu- 
tation is  an  idle  and  most  false  imposition  ;  oft  got  without  merit,  and 
lost  without  deserving.  What,  man  !  There  are  ways  to  recover  the 
Genera]  again.    Sue  to  him,  and  he  is  yours. 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  SHAKSPEARE. 


19S 


tussm.  I  win  rather  sue  tc  be  despised  than  to  deceive  so  good  a 
jommander  with  so  light,  so  drunken,  and  so  indiscreet  an  officer 
Drunk?  and  speak  parrot?  and  squabble?  swagger?  swear?  and 
discourse  fustian  with  one's  own  shadow?  —  0,  thou  invisible  spirit 

of  wine !  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee  

Devil. 

lago.  What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your  sword  ?  what  had 
he  done  to  you  ? 

Cassio.  I  know  not. 
lago.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Cassio.  I  remember  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing  distinctly;  a 
quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefore.  O,  that  men  should  put  an  enemy 
in  their  mouths  to  steal  away  their  brains  !  that  we  should  with  joy 
pleasure,  revel,  and  applause,  transform  ourselves  into  beasts  ! 

lago.  Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough :  how  came  you  thus 
recovered  ? 

Cassio.  It  has  pleased  the  devil  Drunkenness  to  give  place  to  the 
devil  Wrath  :  one  imperfection  shows  me  another,  to  make  me  frankly 
despise  myself 

lago.  Come  :  you  are  too  severe  a  moraler.  As  the  time,  the  place, 
and  the  condition  of  this  country  stands,  I  could  heartily  wish  this  had 
not  befallen ;  but  since  it  is  as  it  is,  mend  it,  for  your  own  good. 

Cassio.  I  will  ask  him  for  my  place  again ;  he  shall  tell  me  I  am  a 
drunkard !  Had  I  as  many  mouths  as  Hydra,  such  an  answer  would  stop 
them  all.  To  be  now  a  sensible  man,  by  and  by  a  fool,  and  presently 
a  beast !  0,  strange  !  —  Every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the 
mgredient  is  a  devil. 

lago.  Come,  come !  good  wine  is  a  good  familiar  creature,  if  it  be 
well  used ;  exclaim  no  more  against  it ;  —  and,  good  Lieutenant,  I 
think  you  think  I  love  you  ? 

Cassio.  I  have  well  approved  it.  Sir.:  —  I  drunk  ! 

lago.  You,  or  any  man  living,  may  be  drunk  some  time,  man !  I  '11 
tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  Our  General's  ivife  is  now  the  General ; 
confess  yourself  freely  to  her :  importune  her ;  she  '11  help  to  put 
you  m  your  place  again.  She  is  of  so  free,  so  kind,  so  apt,  so  blessed 
a  disposition,  she  holds  it  a  vice  in  her  goodness  not  to  do  more 
than  she  is  requested.  This  broken  joint  between  you  and  her  hus- 
band  entreat  her  to  splinter;  and,  my  fortunes  against  any  Jay 
worth  naming,  this  crack  of  your  love  shall  grow  strongei  than  it 
was  before. 

Cassio.  You  advise  me  well. 

l2gD,^  I  protest,  in  the  sincerity  of  love  and  honest  kindness, 
Cassio.  I  think  it  freely;  and,  betimes  in  the  morning,  I  will 

beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  undertake  for  me. 

lago.  You  are  in  the  right.    Good-night,  Lieutenant.    I  must  tc 

watch. 

Cassio.  Good-night,  aonest  lago 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


RFEECn  OF  CASSrUS,  INSTIGATING   BRUTUS  TO   JOIN   JHE  CONSCIRAO! 

4GAINST  C^SAR.  —  Shak/tpeare. 

Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story. 
I  cannot  tell  what  you,  and  other  men. 
Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 
;    I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Caesar ;  so  were  you  ; 
We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he ; 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Cassar  said  to  me,  "  Dar'st  thou,  Gassius,  now, 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 
And  swim  to  yonder  point  ?  "    Upon  the  word. 
Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 
And  bade  him  follow ;  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roared  ;  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews  ;  throwing  it  aside, 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But,  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Caesar  cried.  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  J  sink  / 
I,  as  iEneas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did,  from  the  flames  of  Troy,  upon  his  shoulder, 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tibei, 
Did  I  the  tired  Csesar  :  and  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god ;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body. 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake :  't  is  true,  this  god  did  shake : 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly  ; 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 
Did  lose  its  lustre  :  I  did  hear  him  groan : 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  liade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas  !  it  cried,  Gwe  me  some  drink,  Titiinas, 
As  a  sick  girl.    Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 
And  bear  the  palm  alone  ! 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus  and  Caesar;  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar' 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  youTB 
Write  thein  together,  yours  is  as  lair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well  • 


RHETORICAL  ANL  DRAMATIC.  SHAKSPEARE. 

Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  them, 

Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar. 

Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 

Upon  what  meat  cloth  this  our  Csesar  feed 

That  he  is  grown  so  great  ?   Age,  thou  art  shamed  ; 

Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods  ! 

When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 

But  it  was  fumed  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 

When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talked  of  Rome, 

That  her  wide  walls  encompassed  but  one  man  ? 

0  !  you  and  I  have  haard  our  fathers  say 

There  was  a  Brutus,  once,  that  would  have  brooked 

The  eternal  devii  to        hid  state  in  Rome, 

As  easily  as  a  kiLg' , 


-.a^DINAL  WOLSEY,  ON  BEING  CAST  OFF  BY  KING  HENRY  Vm  - 

Nay,  then,  farewell, 
I  have  touched  the  highest  point  of  all  my  greatness , 
And,  from  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 
I  haste  now  to  my  setting  :  I  shall  fall 
Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening, 
And  no  man  see  me  more. 
So  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man  :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope  ;  to-morrow,  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him : 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost ; 
And,  when  he  thinks,  —  good,  easy  man,  —  full  surelj 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening,  nips  his  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.    I  have  ventured, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders. 
These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory ; 
But  far  beyond  my  depth  :  my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  forever  hide  me. 

Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hato  ye ' 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened.    0,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  he  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  his  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  ha^e. 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again  I 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  rav  misexies :  but  thou  hast  forced  ma 


THJ.  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Out  of  thy  hones^  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 

Let 's  dry  our  eyes :  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 

And,  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 

And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 

Of  me  must  more  be  heard,  —  say,  then,  I  taught  thee, 

Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 

And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor 

Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 

A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  missed  it.  -r- 

Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  which  ruined  me  ! 

Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition ! 

By  that  sin  fell  the  angels :  how  can  man,  then. 

The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by 't  ? 

Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee,  — 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty ; 

Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 

To  silence  envious  tongues.    Be  just,  and  fear  not, 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 

Thy  God's,  and  truth's  :  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  0  Cromwell, 

Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr  !    Serve  the  King ; 

And,  Prithee,  lead  me  in  : 

There,  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have. 

To  the  last  penny ;  't  is  the  King's ;  my  robe. 

And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 

I  dare  now  call  mine  own.    0,  Cromwell,  Cromwell ! 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  ze^ 

I  served  my  King,  He  would  not,  in  mine  age, 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies  ! 


27   HAMLET'S  INSTRUCTION  TO  THE  VLAYmiB.  —  Shakspeare. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you,  trip 
pingly  on  the  tongue ;  but,  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our  players 
JO,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-crier  spoke  my  lines.  Nor,  do  not  saw  the 
air  too  much  with  your  hand,  thus  :  but  use  all  gently;  for,  in  the 
very  torrent,  tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion, 
you  must  acquire  and  beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smoothnesfc. 
0  !  it  offends  me  to  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious,  periwig-pated  fellow, 
tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  —  to  very  rags,  —  to  split  the  (-^rs  of  the 
groundlings;  who,  for  the  most  part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but 
inexplicable  dumb  show  and  noise.  I  would  have  such  a  fellow 
whipped  for  o'erdoing  Termagant ;  it  out-Herods  Herod.  Pray  you 
avoid  it. 

Bo  not  too  tame,  neither,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be  your  tutor, 
suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action  ;  with  this  special 
observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not  the  modesty  of  nature ;  for  any- 
thing so  overdone  is  from  the  purpose  of  playing,  — whose  end,  both  at 
the  first  and  now,  was  and  is,  to  hold,  as 't  were,  the  mirror  up  M 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  SHAKSPEARE. 


50S 


N'ature ;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature  ;  scorn,  her  own  image;  ana 
the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time,  his  form  and  pressure.  Now,  this 
overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  can 
ttot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve  ;  the  censure  of  which  07ie  must,  iu 
your  allowance,  o'erweigh  a  whole  theatre  of  others.  0  !  there  be 
players  that  I  have  seen  play,  —  and  heard  others  praise  and  that 
^igtijj  — 1^0^'  to  speak  it  profanely,  that,  neither  having  the  accent  cf 
Christians,  nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so  strutted 
ftud  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of  Nature's  journeymen  haci 
made  men,  and  not  made  men  well,  they  imitated  humanity'  so  abom- 
inably ! 

28.  HAMLET'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  DEATH.  —  5/(a/fc.^peare. 

To  be  —  or  not  to  be  —  that  is  the  question ! 
Whether 't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,  — 
Or,  to  take  arnts  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them.  —  To  die,  —  to  sleep ;  — 
No  more  ;  —  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to ;  —  't  is  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished  !    To  die  ;  —  to  sleep ;  — 
To  sleep  ?  perchance  to  dream  ;  —  ay,  there 's  the  rub 
For,  in  that  sleep  of  death,  what  dreams  may  come. 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause  !    There  's  the  respect 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life : 
.    For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 
The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin  ? 

Who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life ; 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death,  - 
The  undiscovered  country,  from'whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns,  —  puzzles  the  will ; 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. 


m 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


2&   NOT  A3HAMED  OF  HIS  OCCVPATIOIH.  — Original  adaptation  fjom  Morton 

Jasper,  Now,  there 's  a  nice  looking  young  man  for  a  weddiD| 
party  ! 

Stephen.  Ah,  dad  !    How  are  you,  dad  ? 

Jas.  Not  dret^sed  yet  ?    What  are  you  thinking  of,  you  idle  dog  ? 

Ste.  Idle  !    Excuse  me,  dad  ;  I  was  at  work  afore  daylight. 

Jas  Work:  daylight!  what  have  3/ ou  to  do  with  daylight,  such 
a  day  as  this  ^  L)on't  you  know  that  Lady  Leatherbridge,  and  her 
niece,  Ijady  Valeria,  will  be  here  presently  ?  Go  to  that  glass.  Sir  ' 
gaze  upon  that  coat,  waistcoat  and  trousers,  including  boots,  and  then 
tell  me,  is  that  figure  Stephen  Plum,  or  a  common  cotton-spinner,  out 
of  the  hundreds  in  his  employ  ? 

Ste.  Well,  and  what 's  Stephen  Plum,  after  all 's  said  and  done, 
but  a  common  spinner,  too  ?  A  common  spinner  growed  rich,  like  his 
father  before  him  ?  Was  n't  his  father, —  bless  the  old  face  of  him  !  — 
wasn't^  a  common  spinner,  too  ?  No,  he  was  n't ;  Jasper  Plura 
was  no  common  spinner ;  he  was  one  in  a  thousand,  he  was  !  Did  n't 
he  use  to  make  the  bobbins  fly ;  and  did  n't  he  card  and  comb  till  his 
face  was  as  shiny  red  as  a  bran  new  penny  bit  ?  Ah  '  dad,  you  was 
something  like  a  man,  then,  you  was  ! 

Jas.  Well,  I  believe  I  was  rather  a  good  hand.  But  those  mechan- 
ical times  are  gone  ;  we  are  now  gentlemen  ! 

Ste.  Speak  for  yourself,  dad  ;  I 'm.  no  gentleman.  I  was,  and 
am,  and  always  shall  be,  a  cotton- spinner.  Now,  don't  be  unreasonable, 
dad  !  have  n't  you  made  brother  Freddy  a  gentleman  ?  Surely,  oiu 
gentleman  in  a  family 's  quite  enough. 

Jas.  Yes,  Frederick  William 's  a  pretty  fellow,  —  a  very  pretty 
fellow. 

Ste.  Freddy 's  been  wound  on  a  different  bobbin  to  me.  Freddy 's 
been  to  Oxford  College,  and  larnt  no  end  of  larning ;  and  Freddy 's 
been  to  London,  and  seen  no  end  of  London  life. 

Jas.  And,  if  you  had  n't  preferred  living  like  a  bear,  you  might 
have  accompanied  him,  and  seen  how  all  the  mothers,  who  had  daugh- 
ters to  marry,  tried  to  get  him  to  marry  their  daughters.  Even  the 
bead  of  the  illustrious  house  of  Leatherbridge  graciously  condescended 
M)  accept  his  proposals  for  her  niece,  Lady  Valeria  Westendleigh.  The 
whole  affair  was  moved,  debated  and  carried,  in  a  week ;  only  it  was 
arranged  that  the  wedding  should  take  place  here  at  Bristol  during 
the  family's  visit  to  Clifton,  to  avoid  what  we  call  idat !  eclat,  Sir ! 
\iignijied.^ 

Ste.  W^cll,  I  don't  wonder  at  Freddy ;  Freddy 's  a  handsome 
chap,  and  a  thorough  good  fellow  ;  and  Jasper  Plum  is  the  warmest 
man  in  our  parts,  and  can  put  one  hundred  thousand  yellow-boya 
iinto  Freddy's  breeches-pocket. 

Jas.  Yellow-boys !  breeches-pocket !  Stephen  Plum,  I  hope  yOM 
don't  mean  to  discharge  such  fearful  expressions  in  the  hearing  of 
l^ly  Leatherbridge 


RHETOBICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  MORTON 


o05 


Ste,  Bless  you,  no ;  before  them  female  nobs,  my  grammar  '11  be 
IS  right  as  a  trivet. 

Jos.  Female  nobs  !  right  as  a  trivet !  Stephen,  Stephen  the  sad 
sruth  is,  you 've  got  no  elevation  of  soul !  You  '11  live  and  die  in 
9otton ! 

Ste,  I  hope  so ;  I  mean  to  stick  to  cotton  as  long  ^  cotton  sticks 
to  me. 

Jas.  [taking  cotton  off  his  coat].  (Cotton  sticks  to  you  too  mueh, 
Stephen  Plum  — 

Ste.  I  wish  you 'd  stick  to  cotton,  dad,  and  get  rid  of  all  these 
fine,  new,  silk-and-satin  notions  of  yours  !  The  idea  of  your  idling 
away  your  time,  studying  parlez  vou  Fransy  !  and  then  getting  that 
whacking  looking-glass,  where  I  seed  you  making  great  ugly  faces  at 
yourself!  Don't  say  you  did  n't,  'cause  Toby  and  I  catched  you  at  it, 
t'  other  morning.    How  we  did  laugh,  surely !    Ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Jas.  What  you  are  pleased  to  call  great  ugly  faces,  Sir,  were  pos- 
tures and  smiles  to  receive  my  guests,  —  and  look  at  the  result ! 
Behold  the  transmogrified  Jasper  Plum  !  Passed  into  the  state  of 
butterfly,  out  of  the  state  of  grub  ! 

Ste.  A  butterfly,  you  ?  I  say,  dad,  don't  you  feel  a  little  stiffish 
about  the  wings  ?  Ho,  ho  !  butterfly  and  grub  !  [Suddenly  serious.] 
Look  you,  dad  ;  winter  and  summer,  in  work  and  out  of  work,  I  can 
manage  to  keep  five  hundred  cotton  spinners,  —  families  and  all,  a 
matter  of  two  thousand  poor  creatures,  —  and  every  man,  woman  and 
child,  among  'em,  has  helped  to  make  us  rich.  For  my  part,  I  can't 
lift  a  bit  to  my  mouth,  but  I  ask  myself  if  any  of  theirs  be  empty. 
No,  no  !  I  must  live  and  die  among  'em  ;  but  what  need  to  tell  you 
so  ?  Don't  they  love  you,  and  you  love  them,  as  dear  as  dear  can  be  ? 
Bless  your  old  heart,  I  know  you  do  !  And  now,  dad,  I  '11  tell  you  a 
secret.    I 'm  in  love. 

Jas.  In  what  ? 

Ste.  In  love  !  and  I  don't  mind  to  tell  you  another  secret,  —  it 's 
with  a  woman  ! 

Jas.  In  love  with  a  woman  ! 

Ste.  Yes ;  and,  now  you  're  in  for  it,  I  '11  tell  you  a  third  secret, 
—  I  want  to  marry  her  off-hand,  directly. 

Jas.  Tho  boy 's  mad !  His  brother's  marriage  has  got  into  his  head, 
and  turned  it !  You  marry  ?  and  marry  a  woman,  too  ?  What  next, 
\  wonder  ? 

Ste.  Don  t  be  angry,  dad;  I  only  want  a  wife  of  my  own,  like 
my  father  before  me ;  so  you 'd  very  much  oblige  me,  if  you 'd  just 
name  the  time  and  keep  it. 

Jas.  Indeed  !  before  I  name  the  time^  Sir,  perhaps  you  '11  conde- 
scend to  name  the  woman. 

Ste.  Ah !  now  comes  the  tug.  I  say,  dad,  you  see  that  hook 
*top  of  the  ceiling,  —  that 's  just  where  you  '11  jump  to,  when  you  hear 
who 't  is.    Well,  then,  the  woman  I  love,  and  wanfc  to  marry,  i^  th« 


506 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


poor  factory  girl,  Martha  Gibbs.  Now,  don't  j amp!  [Holering  Ja^tpef 
down.] 

Jos.  Martha  Gibbs  !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Come,  I  like  this.  There 's 
some  character  about  such  abominable  audacity  !  It  tickles  one  to  have 
one's  hair  stand  on  end  !  Degenerate  offspring !  do  you  want  to  be  the 
death  of  the  house  of  Plum  ?  And  do  you  think  I  '11  ever  sanction 
such  an  alliance  for  a  son  of  mine  ?  Never,  never  !  The  voice  of  all 
your  ancestors  exclaims,  Never  !  never  ! 

Ste,  Then  I  wish  my  ancestors  would  just  speak  when  they  're 
spoke  to. 

Jo,s  Reflect,  rash  youth,  what  was  this  creature,  Martha?  A 
beggar,  asking  charity ! 

Ste.  No,  she  asked  for  wages,  and  paid  you  with  hard  work. 

Jas.  And  loho  was  she  ?  I  ask  for  her  ancestry ;  she  never  had 
any.    1  ask  for  her  parents  ;  I  don't  believe  she  ever  had  any. 

Ste.  Never  had  a  father  and  m^other  ?  Then  warn't  she  a  clever 
girl  to  manage  to  do  without?    Ho,  ho,  ho ! 

Jas.  Eeflect  like  a  man,  Sir,  and  don't  laugh  like  a  horse  !  I  '11 
turn  that  intriguing  hussy,  Martha  Gibbs,  out  of  the  house,  this  very 
day! 

Ste.  Stop,  dad  ;  you  don't,  you  can't  mean  that  ? 
Jas.  I  do  mean  that,  and  I  '11  do  it ! 

Ste.  No,  you  won't :  you  may  save  yourself  the  trouble  now^  and 
the  pain  afterwards.  Martha  has  given  notice ;  she  means  to  quit  the 
factory  to-morrow  morning. 

Jas.  A  pleasant  journey  to  her  ! 

Ste.  I  hope  so,  'cause  I  go  along  with  her. 

Jas.  What  did  you  say,  Sir  ? 

Ste.  I  go  along  with  her. 

Jas.  You,  Stephen  !  go  and  leave  —  0,  Stephen  ! 
Ste.  Perhaps  it 's  best  it  should  be  so ;  long 's  the  day  I 've  seen 
ray  father  and  brother  are  ashamed  of  me. 
Jas.  Stephen  Plum ! 

Ste.  And  you 'd  have  me  marry  a  fine  lady,  who 'd  be  ashamed  of 
me,  too  ;  but  I  won't.  So,  if  you  won't  have  us  near  you,  why  Mar- 
tha and  I  must  love  you  far  away. 

Jas.  Well,  I  '11  reflect,  —  let  me  have  time  to  reflect. 

Ste.  That 's  but  fair  ;  I  '11  give  you  lots  of  time.  [Looking  at  his 
watch.]    I  '11  give  you  five-and-twenty  minutes. 

Jas  Eh? 

Ste  Well,  I  don't  mind  making  it  half  an  hour ;  now,  mind,  in 
thirty  minmtes  I  '11  return  for  your  yes  or  no.  If  it 's^^'  No,"  I  must 
pack  up  my  carpet-bag,  'cause  I  can't  go  into  the  wide  world  with- 
3ut  a  change  of  linen.  [Exit.] 

Jas.  1  shall  run  distracted.!  Stephen  Plum,  if  you 've  any  linger- 
ing  love  for  your  half-expiring  father  —  Stephen,  I  say  !  Half  an 
hour,  indeed !  th^t  the  house  of  Plum  should  come  to  this !  \Ezit.] 


fiHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  SHIEL. 


—  fFm.\jQ,Umore  i 


( 

m  THE  UNION  AND  ITS  GOVERNMENT 

GrOVERNME 

We  hold  to  be  the  creature  of  our  need, 
Having  no  power  but  where  necessity 
Still,  under  guidance  of  the  Charter,  gives  it. 
Our  taxes  raised  to  meet  our  exigence, 
And  not  for  waste  or  favorites.    Our  People 
Left  free  to  share  the  commerce  of  the  world, 
Without  one  needless  barrier  on  their  prows. 
Our  industry  at  liberty  for  venture. 
Neither  abridged  nor  pampered  ;  and  no  calling 
P'^eferred  before  another,  to  the  ruin 
Or  wrong  of  either.    These,  Sir,  are  my  doctrines 
They  are  the  only  doctrines  which  shall  keep  us 
From  anarchy,  and  that  worst  peril  yet, 
That  threatens  to  dissever,  in  the  tempest, 
That  married  harmony  of  hope  with  power 
That  keeps  our  starry  Union  o'er  the  storm, 
And,  in  the  sacred  bond  that  links  our  fortunes, 
Makes  us  defy  its  thunders  !    Thus  in  One, 
The  foreign  despot  threatens  us  in  vain. 
Guizot  and  Palmerston  may  fret  to  see  us 
Grasping  the  empires  which  they  vainly  covet, 
And  stretching  forth  our  trident  o'er  the  seas, 
In  rivalry  with  Britain.    They  may  confine. 
But  cannot  chain  us.    Balances  of  power, 
Framed  by  corrupt  and  cunning  monarchists. 
Weigh  none  of  oar  possessions  ;  and  the  seasons 
That  mark  our  mighty  progress  East  and  West, 
Show  Europe's  struggling  millions  fondly  seeking 
The  better  shores  and  shelters  that  are  ours. 


31.  COLONNA  TO  THE  KmQ. —Richard  Lalor  Shiel. 

The  favor  that  I  ask  is  one,  my  liege, 
That  princes  often  find  it  hard  to  grant. 
'T  is  simply  this  :  that  you  will  hear  the  truth. 

I  see  your  courtiers  here  do  stand  amazed  : 
Of  them  I  first  would  speak.    There  is  not  on% 
Of  this  wide  troop  of  glittering  parasites, 
That  circle  you,  as  priests  surround  their  god, 
With  sycophantic  incense,  but  in  soul 
Is  your  base  foe  !    These  smilers  here,  my  liege 
Whose  dimples  seem  a  sort  of  honey-comb. 
Filled  and  o'erflowing  with  their  suavity,  — 
These  soft,  melodious  flatterers,  irj  liege% 
That  flourish  on  the  flexibility 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Of  their  soft  countenances,  —  are  the  veimin 
That  haunt  a  prince's  ear  with  the  false  buzz 
Of  villanous  assentation.    These  are  they 
Who  from  your  mind  have  flouted  every  thought 
Of  the  great  weal  of  the  People.    These  are  they 
Who  from  your  ears  have  shut  the  public  cry.  — 

Who  dares  complain  of  you  ?  "    All  dare  complaia 
Behind  you  ;  I,  before  you  !    Do  not  think, 
Because  you  load  your  People  with  the  weight 
Of  camels,  they  possess  the  camel's  patience, 
A  deep  groan  labors  in  the  nation's  heart , 
The  very  calm  and  stillness  of  the  day 
Gives  augury  of  the  earthquake.    All  without 
Is  as  the  marble  smooth  ;  and  all  within 
Is  rotten  as  the  carcass  it  contains. 
Though  ruin  knock  not  at  the  palace  gate, 
Yet  will  the  palace  gate  unfold  itself 
To  ruin's  felt-shod  tread. 

Your  gorgeous  banquets,  your  high  feasts  of  gold, 

Which  the  four  quarters  of  the  rifled  world 

Heap  with  their  ravished  luxuries  ;  your  pomps, 

Your  palaces,  and  all  the  sumptuousness 

Of  painted  royalty,  will  melt  away, 

As  in  a  theatre  the  glittering  scene 

Doth  vanish  with  the  shifter's  magic  hand, 

And  the  mock  pageant  perishes.    My.  liege, 

A  single  virtuous  action  hath  more  worth 

Than  all  the  pyramids ;  and  glory  writes 

A  more  enduring  epitaph  upon 

One  generous  deed,  than  the  sarcophagus 

In  which  Sesostris  meant  to  sleep. 


4D7.RESS  TO  THE  SWISS.  —  Adaptation  from  Schiller's  play  of  mXUm  T0lt 

Confederates,  listen  to  the  words  which  Gal 
Inspires  my  heart  withal.    Here  we  are  met 
To  represent  the  general  weal.    In  us 
Are  all  the  People  of  the  land  convened. 
Then  let  us  hold  the  Diet,  as  of  old, 
And  as  we  're  wont  in  peaceful  times  tc  do. 
The  time's  necessity  be  our  excuse. 
If  there  be  aught  informal  in  this  meeting. 
Still,  wheresoe'er  men  strike  for  justice,  there 
Is  God  ;  and  now  beneath  His  Heaven  we  s^nd. 
The  JNations  round  us  bear  a  foreign  yoke 
B'or  they  have  yielded  to  the  conqueror. 
Nay,  e'en  within  our  frontiers  may  be  found 
Some  that  owe  villein  service  to  a  lord,  — 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  SHIEL. 


A  race  of  bonded  serfs  from  sire  to  boii. 
But  we,  the  genuine  race  of  ancient  Swiss, 
Have  kept  our  freedom,  from  the  first,  till  now 
Never  to  princes  have  we  bowed  the  knee 
What  said  our  fathers  when  the  Emperor 
Pronounced  a  judgment  in  the  Abbey's  favor 
Awarding  lands  beyond  his  jurisdiction  ? 
What  was  their  answer  ?    This  :  —  "  The  grant  ia 
No  Emperor  can  bestow  what  is  our  own ; 
And  if  the  Empire  shall  deny  us  justice, 
We  can,  within  our  mountains,  right  ourselves." 
Thus  spake  our  fathers  ;  and,  shall  we  endure 
The  shame  and  infamy  of  this  new  yoke  ; 
And,  from  the  vassal,  brook  what  never  king 
Dared,  in  the  fulness  of  his  power,  attempt? 

This  soil  we  have  created  for  ourselves, 
By  the  hard  labor  of  our  hands ;  ^^e 've  changed 
The  giant  forest,  that  was  erst  the  haunt 
Of  savage  bears,  into  a  home  for  man ; 
Blasted  the  solid  rock  ;  o'er  the  abyss 
Thrown  the  firm  bridge  for  the  way-faring  man. 
By  the  possession  of  a  thousand  years. 
The  soil  is  ours.    And,  shall  an  alien  lord, 
Himself  a  vassal,  dare  to  venture  here, 
On  our  own  hearths  insult  us,  and  attempt 
To  forge  the  chains  of  bondage  for  our  hands, 
And  do  us  shame  on  our  own  proper  soil  ? 
Is  there  no  help  against  such  wrong  as  this  ? 
Yes  !  there 's  a  limit  to  the  despot's  power. 
When  the  oppressed  looks  round  in  vain  for  justicj 
When  his  sore  burden  may  no  more  be  borne. 
With  fearless  heart,  he  makes  appeal  to  Heaven, 
And  thence  brings  down  his  everlasting  rights, 
Which  there  abide,  inalienably  his, 
And  indestructible  as  are  the  stars. 
Nature's  primaeval  state  returns  again. 
Where  man  stands  hostile  to  his  fellow-man ; 
And,  if  all  other  means  shall  fail  his  need, 
One  last  resource  remains  —  his  own  good  sword 
Our  dearest  treasures  call  to  us  for  aid 
Against  the  oppressor's  violence  ;  we  stand 
For  country,  home,  for  wives,  for  children,  here ! 


33.  WILLIAM  TELL  IN  WAIT  FOR  GESSLER.  —  5c  Wf^er 

Here  through  this  deep  defile  he  needs  must  pass 
There  leads  no  other  road  to  KQssnacht :  —  heie 
I  '11  do  it :  —  the  opportunity  is  good. 
Yon  alder -tree  titands  well  for  my  concealment,  — 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


The  iv'e  my  avenging  shaft  will  surely  reach  him  ; 
The  straitness  of  the  path  forbids  pursuit. 
Now,  Gessler,  balance  thine  account  with  Heaven ! 
Thou  must  away  from  earth  —  thy  sand  Ls  run. 

I  led  a  peaceful,  inoffensive  life  ;  — 
My  bow  was  bent  on  forest  game  alone. 
And  my  pure  soul  was  free  from  thoughts  of  murder, 
But  thou  hast  scared  me  from  ray  dream  of  peace  • 
The  milk  of  human  kindness  thou  hast  turned 
To  rankling  poison  in  my  breast ;  and  made 
Appalling  deeds  familiar  to  my  soul. 
He  who  could  make  his  own  child's  head  his  mark 
Can  speed  his  arrow  to  his  foeman's  heart. 

My  children  dear,  my  loved  and  faithful  wife. 
Must  be  protected,  tyrant,  from  thy  fury  I  — 
When  last  I  drew  my  bow,  with  trembling  hand, 
And  thou,  with  murderous  joy,  a  father  forced 
To  level  at  his  child,  —  when,  all  in  vain. 
Writhing  before  thee,  I  implored  thy  mercy,  — 
Then,  in  the  agony  of  my  soul,  I  vowed 
A  fearful  oath,  which  met  God's  ear  alone. 
That  when  my  bow  next  winged  an  arrow's  flight, 
Its  aim  should  be  thy  heart.    The  vow  I  made, 
Amid  the  hellish  torments  of  that  moment, 
I  hold  a  sacred  debt,  and  I  will  pay  it. 

Thou  art  my  lord,  my  Emperor's  delegate ; 
Yet  would  the  Emperor  not  have  stretched  his  powe? 
So  far  as  thou.    He  sent  thee  to  these  Cantons 
To  deal  forth  law,  —  stern  law,  —  for  he  is  angered  ; 
But  not  to  wanton  with  unbridlea  will 
In  every  cruelty,  with  fiend-like  joy  :  — 
There  is  a  God  to  punish  and  avenge. 

Well,  I  am  watching  for  a  nooie  prey ! 
Does  not  the  huntsman,  with  severest  toil, 
Roam  for  whole  days  amid  the  winter's  cold, 
Leap  with  a  daring  bound  from  rock  to  rock, 
And  climb  the  jagged,  slippery  steeps,  to  which 
His  limbs  are  glued  by  his  own  streaming  blood,  - 
And  all  this  but  to  gain  a  wretched  chamois  ? 
A  far  more  precious  prize  is  now  my  aim, 
The  heart  of  that  dire  foe  who  would  destroy  me. 

From  my  first  years  of  boyhood  I  have  used 
The  bow,  —  been  practised  in  the  archer's  feats; 
The  bull's  eye  many  a  time  my  shafts  have  hit. 
And  many  a  goodly  prize  have  I  brought  home, 
Won  in  the  games  of  skill.    This  day  I  '11  make 
My  master-shot,  and  win  the  highest  prize 
WitSin  the  whole  circumference  of  the  mc^ntaing 


aHETOEICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  SCUILLER. 

Oome  forth,  thou  bringer  once  of  bitter  pangs, 

[Draws  an  arrow  from  his 
My  precious  jewel  now,  —  my  chiefest  treasure,  — 
A  mark  I  'li  set  thee,  which  the  cry  of  grief 
Could  never  penetrate,  —  but  thou  shalt  pierce  it ; 
And  thou,  my  trusty  bow-striug,  that  so  oft 
Has  served  me  faithfully  in  sportive  scenes, 
Desert  me  not  in  this  most  serious  hour 
Only  be  true  this  once,  my  own  good  cord, 
That  hast  so  often  winged  the  biting  shaft ;  — 
For  shouldst  thou  fly  successless  from  my  hand, 
I  have  no  second  to  send  aft^^r  thee. 


34.  WILMAM  TELL  DESCRIBES  HIS  ESCAPE.  —  5cA;7to  . 

I  LAY  on  deck,  fast  bound  with  cords,  disarmed, 
in  utter  hopelessness.    I  did  not  think 
Aojain  to  see  the  gladsome  light  of  day, 
Nor  the  dear  faces  of  my  wile  and  children. 
And  eyed  disconsolate  the  waste  of  waters. 

Then  we  put  forth  upon  the  lake,  —  the  Vicerbj 
Hudolph  der  Harras,  and  their  suite.    My  bow 
And  quiver  lay  astern  beside  the  helm  ; 
And  just  as  we  had  reached  the  corner,  near 
The  Little  Axen,  Heaven  ordained  it  so, 
That- from  the  Gotthardt's  gorge  a  hurricane 
Swept  down  upon  us  with  such  headlong  force, 
That  every  rower's  heart  within  him  sank. 
And  all  on  board  looked  for  a  watery  grave. 
ThcQ  heard  I  one  of  the  attendant  train. 
Turning  to  Gessler,  in  this  strain  accost  him  : 
"  You  see  our  danger,  and  your  own,  my  lord, 
And  that  we  hover  on  the  verge  of  death. 
The  boatmen  there  are  powerless  from  fear. 
Nor  are  they  confident  what  course  to  take  ;  — 
Now,  here  is  William  Tell,  a  fearless  man, 
And  knows  to  steer  with  more  than  common  ftkiil. 
How  if  we  should  avail  ourselves  of  him. 
In  this  emergency  ?  "    The  Viceroy  then 
Addressed  me  thus  :  "  If  thou  wilt  undertake 
To  bring  us  through  this  tempest  safely,  Tell, 
1  might  consent  to  fr3e  thee  from  thy  bonds." 
I  answered,  "  Yes,  my  lord,  with  God's  assistance 
I  '11  see  what  can  be  done,  and  help  us  Heaven ! " 
On  this  they  loosed  me  from  my  bonds,  and  I 
Stood  by  the  helm  and  fairly  steered  along  , 
Yet  3ver  eyed  my  shooting  gear  askance, 
\ad  kept  a  -vatchful  eye  upon  the  shore. 


IBE  BTAtf,ijARD  SPEAKEll 


To  find  some  point  where  I  might  leap  to  land  . 

And  when  I  had  descried  a  shelving  crag, 

That  jutted,  smooth  atop,  into  the  lake,  — 

I  bade  the  men  put  forth  their  utmost  might, 

Until  we  came  before  the  shelving  crag. 

For  there,  I  said,  the  danger  will  be  past ! 

Stoutly  they  pulled,  and  soon  we  neared  the  point : 

One  prayer  to  God  for  His  assisting  grace, 

And,  straining  every  muscle,  I  brought  round 

The  vessel's  stern  close  to  the  rocky  wall ; 

Then,  snatching  up  my  weapons,  with  a  bound 

I  swung  myself  upon  the  flattened  shelf. 

And  with  my  feet  thrust  ofi",  with  all  my  might, 

The  puny  bark  into  the  hell  of  waters. 

There  let  it  drift  about,  as  Heaven  ordains  ! 

Thus  am  I  here,  delivered  from  the  might 

Of  the  dread  storm,  and  man,  more  dreadful  still. 


WALLENSTEIN'S  SOLILOQUY.  —  ScAi7/er.    Coleridge's  Translattm 

Is  it  possible  ? 
Is 't  so  ?    I  can  no  longer  what  I  would  f 
No  longer  draw  back  at  my  liking  ?  I 
Must  do  the  deed  because  I  thought  of  it. 
And  fed  this  heart  here  with  a  dream  ?  Because 
I  did  not  scowl  temptation  from  my  presence, 
Dallied  with  thoughts  of  possible  fulfilment, 
Commenced  no  movement,  left  all  time  uncertain, 
And  only  kept  the  road,  the  access,  open  ? 
I  but  amused  myself  with  thinking  of  it. 
The  free-will  tempted  me,  the  power  to  do 
Or  not  to  do  it.    Was  it  criminal 
To  make  the  fancy  minister  to  hope, 
To  fill  the  air  with  pretty  toys  of  air, 
And  clutch  fantastic  sceptres  moving  toward  me ! 
Was  not  the  will  kept  free  ?    Beheld  I  not 
The  road  of  duty  close  beside  me,  —  but 
One  little  step,  and  once  more  I  was  in  it ! 
Where  am  I  ?    Whither  have  I  been  transported  ? 
No  road,  no  track  behind  me,  but  a  wall, 
Impenetrable,  insurmountable, 
Rises  obedient  to  the  spells  I  muttered 
And  meant  not,  —  my  own  doings  tower  behind  rm 

What  is  thy  enterpr-ise  ?  thy  aim  ?  thy  object  ? 
Hast' honestly  confessed  it  to  thyself? 
Power  seated  on  a  quiet  throne  thou  'dst  shake,  — 
Power  on  an  ancient  consecrated  throne, 
Strong  in  possession,  founded  in  all  custom 


UHliTORTCAL  AND  DRAMATIC. — SCHILLER. 


Power  by  a  thousand  tough  and  stringy  roots 

Fixed  to  the  people's  pious  nursery-faith. 

Tliis,  this  will  be  no  strife  of  strength  with  strength. 

That  feared  I  not.    I  brave  each  combatant, 

Whom  I  can  look  on,  fixing  eye  to  eye, 

Who,  full  himself  of  courage,  kindles  courage 

In  me,  too.    'T  is  a  foe  invisible 

The  which  I  fear,  —  a  fearful  enemy, 

Which  in  the  human  heart  opposes  me. 

By  its  coward  fear  alone  made  fearful  to  me. 

Not  that,  which  full  of  life,  instinct  with  power, 

Makes  known  its  present  being  ;  that  is  not 

The  true,  the  perilously  formidable. 

0  no !  it  is  the  common,  the  quite  common, 

The  thing  of  an  eternal  yesterday. 

V/hat  ever  was,  and  evermore  returns. 

Sterling  to-morrow,  for  to-day 't  was  sterling ! 

For  of  the  wholly  common  is  man  made. 

And  custom  is  his  nurse  !    Woe,  then,  to  them 

Who  lay  irreverent  hands  upon  his  old 

House  furniture,  the  dear  inheritance 

From  his  forefithers  !    For  time  consecrates  ; 

And  what  is  gray  with  age  becomes  religion. 

Be  in  possession,  and  thou  hast  the  right. 

And  sacred  will  the  many  guard  it  for  thee  ! 


M  "UE  BELIEF  IN  ASTROLOGY.  _  5cAz7/er.    Colerid^e^s  TranslcUiim. 

0  NEVER  rudely  will  I  blame  his  faith 
In  the  might  of  stars  and  angels.    'T  is  not  merely 
The  human  being's  Pride  that  peoples  space 
With  life  and  mystical  predominance ; 
Since  likewise  for  the  stricken  heart  of  Love 
This  visible  nature,  and  this  common  world, 
Is  all  too  narrow  ;  yea,  a  deeper  import 
Lurks  in  the  legend  told  my  infant  years 
Than  lies  upon  that  truth,  we  live  to  learn. 
For  fable  is  Lc^e's  world,  his  home,  his  birth-plaoe 
Delightedly  dwells  he  'mong  %s  and  talismans, 
And  spirits  ;  and  delightedly  believes 
Divinities,  being  himself  divine. 
The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 
The  h\Y  humanities  of  old  religion, 
The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  Majesty, 
That  had  her  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain, 
Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring. 
Or  chasms,  and  watery  depths,  —  all  these  have  vanifihad 
THey  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason  » 

3e 


514 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


But  still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  —  still 
Doth  the  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names, 
And  to  yon  starry  world  they  now  are  gone, 
Spirits  or  gods,  that  used  to  share  this  earth 
With  man  as  with  their  friend  ;  and  to  the  lover 
Yonder  they  move,  from  yonder  visible  sky 
Shoot  influence  down :  and  even  at  this  day 
'T  is  Jupiter  who  brings  whate'er  is  great, 
And  Venus  who  brings  everything  that 's  fair 


B9   THE  GRIEF  OF  BEREAVEMENT.  —  Wallenstein's  Reflections  on  hearing  oj  the  ita«i 

of  young  Piccolomini.    Translated  from  Schiller  by  Coleridge. 

He  is  gone,  —  is  dust ! 
He,  the  more  fortunate !  yea,  he  hath  finished  I 
For  him  there  is  no  longer  any  future. 
His  life  is  bright,  —  bright  without  spot  it  was. 
And  cannot  cease  to  be.    No  ominous  hour 
Knocks  at  his  door  with  tidings  of  mishap. 
Far  off  is  he,  above  desire  and  fear  ; 
No  more  submitted  to  the  change  and  chance 
Of  the  unsteady  planets.    0  !  't  is  well 
With  him  !  but  who  knows  what  the  coming  hour, 
^Tailed  in  thick  darkness,  brings  for  us  ? 

This  anguish  will  be  wearied  down,  I  know ;  — ^ 
What  pang  is  permanent  with  man  ?    From  the  highest. 
As  fi-om  the  vilest  thing  of  every  day, 
He  learns  to  wean  himself ;  for  the  strong  hours 
Conquer  him.    Yet  I  feel  what  I  have  lost 
In  him.    The  bloom  is  vanished  from  my  life. 
For  O !  he  stood  beside  me,  like  my  youth,  — 
Transformed  for  me  the  real  to  a  dream, 
Clothing  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
With  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn ! 
Whatever  fortunes  wait  my  future  toils, 
The  beautiful  is  vanished,  and  returns  not 


58.    PRIULI  AND  JAFFIER.  -  -  Thomas  Otway. 
fhomas  Otway,  from  whose  tragedy  of  "  Venice  Preserved    the  following  extract  l3  taken, 
vas  born  in  Sussex,  England,  in  1651,  and  died,  in  a  state  of  almost  incredible  destitution  and 
wretchedness,  in  1685.    He  was  the  author  of  several  plays,  of  which  his    Venice  Preserved" 
!i  the  most  deservedly  celebrated. 

Priuli.  No  more !  I  '11  hear  no  more !  Begone,  and  leave  ine  ^ 
Jaffifir.  Not  hear  me  !    By  my  sufferings,  but  you  shall ! 
My  Lord,  my  Lord  '  I 'm  not  that  abject  wretch 
You  think  me.    Patience  !  where 's  the  distance  throws 
Me  back  so  far,  but  I  may  boldly  speak 
In  right,  though  proud  oppression  will  not  hear  me^ 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  CTWAT 


pTi.  Have  you  not  wronged  me  • 
Jaf.  Could  my  nature  e'er 
Have  brooked  injustice,  or  the  doing  wrongs 
I  need  not  now  thus  low  have  bent  myself 
To  gain  a  hearing  from  a  cruel  father. 
Wronged  you  ? 

Pri.  Yes,  wronged  me  i    In  the  nicest  pointt 
The  honor  of  my  house,  you 've  done  me  wrong. 
You  may  remember  (for  I  now  will  speak, 
And  urge  its  baseness),  when  you  first  came  home 
From  travel,  with  such  hopes  as  made  you  looked 'oo, 
By  all  men's  eyes,  a  youth  of  expectation, 
Plea,sed  with  your  growing  virtue,  I  received  you, 
Courted,  and  sought  ^o  raise  you  to  your  merits  : 
My  house,  my  table,  nay,  mv  fortune,  too, 
My  very  self,  was  yours :  —  you  might  have  used  m® 
To  your  best  service.    Like  an  open  friend, 
I  treated,  trusted  you,  and  thought  you  mine, 
When,  in  requital  of  my  best  endeavors. 
You  treacherously  practised  to  undo  me : 
Seduced  the  weakness  of  my  age's  darlmg, 
My  only  child,  and  stole  her  from  my  bosom. 
0,  Belvidera ! 

Jaf.  'T  is  to  me  you  owe  her : 
Childless  you  had  been  else,  and  in  the  grave 
Your  name  extinct,  —  no  more  Priuli  heard  of. 
You  may  remember,  scarce  five  years  are  past. 
Since,  in  your  brigantine,  you  sailed  to  see 
The  Adriatic  wedded  by  our  Duke ; 
And  I  was  with  you.    Your  unskilful  pilot 
Dashed  us  upon  a  rock,  when  to  your  boat 
You  made  for  safety :  entered  first  yourself: 
The  afii-ighted  Belvidera  following  next, 
As  she  stood  trembling  on  the  vessel's  side, 
Was,  by  a  wave,  washed  ofi"  into  the  deep ; 
When  instantly  I  plunged  into  the  sea, 
And,  bulFeting  the  billows  to  her  rescue, 
^Redeemed  her  life  with  half  the  loss  of  mine 
'Like  a  rich  conquest,  in  one  hand  I  bore  her, 
And  with  the  other  dashed  the  saucy  waves, 
That  thronged  and  pressed  to  rob  me  of  my'priza. 
I  brought  her,  —  gave  her  to  your  despairing  arms  : 
Indeed  you  thanked  me ;  but  a  nobler  gratitude 
Rose  m  her  soul ;  for  from  that  hour  she  loved  me. 
Till  for  her  life  she  paid  me  with  herself. 

Pn.  You  stole  her  from  me !  —  like  a  thief  you  stole 
At  dead  of  night !  that  cursed  hour  VOU  chosui 
To  rifle  me  of  all  my  heart 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


May  all  your  joys  in  her  prove  fake,  like  mine! 
A  sterile  fortune,  and  a  barren  bed, 
Attend  you  both !  continual  discord  make 
Your  days  and  nights  bitter  and  grievous !  still 
May  the  hard  hand  of  a  vexatious  need 
'  Oppress  and  grind  you ;  till,  at  last,  you  find 
The  curse  of  disobedience  all  your  portion ! 

Jaf.  Half  of  your  curse  you  have  bestowed  in  vain ;  — * 
Heaven  has  already  crowned  our  outcast  lot 
With  a  young  boy,  sweet  as  his  mother's  beauty. 
May  he  live  to  prove  more  gentle  than  his  grandsire, 
And  happier  than  his  father ! 

Pri.  Rather  live 
To  bait  thee  for  his  bread,  and  din  your  ears 
With  hungry  cries ;  whilst  his  unhappy  mother 
Sits  down  and  weeps  in  bitterness  of  want ! 

Jaf.  You  talk  as  if 't  would  please  you. 

Pri.  'T  would,  by  Heaven ! 

Jaf.  Would  I  were  in  my  grave ! 

Pri.  And  she,  too,  with  thee ! 
For,  living  here,  you  're  but  my  cursed  remembrancen 
I  was  once  happy ! 

Jaf  You  use  me  thus,  because  you  know  my  soul 
Is  fond  of  Belvidera.    You  perceive 
My  life  feeds  on  her,  therefore  thus  you  treat  me. 
Were  I  that  thief,  the  doer  of  such  wrongs 
As  you  upbraid  me  with,  what  hinders  me 
But  I  might  send  her  back  to  you  with  contumely, 
And  court  my  fortune  where  she  would  be  kinder  ? 

Pri.  You  dare  not  do 't ! 

Jaf  Indeed,  my  Lord,  I  dare  not. 
My  heart,  that  awes  me,  is  too  much  my  master. 
Three  years  are  past,  since  first  our  vows  wei'e  plighted 
During  which  time,  the  world  must  bear  me  witness, 
I  Ve  treated  Belvidera  as  your  daughter,  — 
The  daughter  of  a  Senator  of  Yenice ;  — 
Distinction,  place,  attendance,  and  observance, 
Due  to  her  birth,  she  always  has  commanded. 
Out  of  my  little  fortune  I 've  done  this ; 
Because  (though  hopeless  e'er  to  win  your  nature^ 
The  world  might  see  I  loved  her  for  hersoif, 
Not  as  the  heiress  of  the  great  Priuli. 

Pri.  No  more ! 

Jaf  Yes,  all,  and  then  adieu  forever. 
There 's  not  a  wretch  that  lives  on  common  charity 
But 's  happier  than  I ;  for  I  have  known 
The  luscious  sweets  of  plenty ;  —  every  night 
H»ve  slept  with  soft  content  about  my  head, 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC.  —  MATHEWS.  517 

And  never  waked  but  to  a  jojful  morning ; 

Yet  now  must,  fall,  like  a  full  ear  of  corn, 

Wliosc  blossom  'scaped,  jet 's  withered  in  the  ripening ' 

Pri.  Home,  and  be  humble  !    Study  to  retrench ; 
Discharge  the  lazj  vermin  in  thy  hall, 
Those  pageants  of  thy  folly ; 
Reduce  the  glittering  trappings  of  thy  wife 
To  humble  weeds,  fit  for  thy  little  state ; 
Then  to  some  suburb  cottage  both  retire  j 
Drudge  to  feed  loathsome  life !    Hence,  hence,  and  stair© 
Home,  home,  I  say ! 


39.  NOTHING  IN  IT.  — Charles  Mathews. 

Jeech.  But  you  don't  laugh,  Coldstream !  Come,  man,  be  amused, 
for  once  in  your  life  !  —  you  don't  laugh. 

Sir  Charles.  0,  yes,  I  do.  You  mistake;  I  laughed  twice,  dis- 
tinctly, ~  only,  the  fact  is,  I  am  bored  to  death  ! 

Leech  Bored  ?  What !  after  such  a  feast  as  that  you  have  given 
us  ?  Look  at  me,  —  I 'm  inspired !  I 'm  a  King  at  this  moment,  and 
all  the  world  is  at  my  feet ! 

Sir  C.  My  dear  Leech,  you  began  life  late.  You  are  a  young 
fellow,  —  forty-five,  —  and  have  the  world  yet  before  you.  I  started 
at  thirteen,  lived  quick,  and  exhausted  the  whole  round  of  pleasure 
before  I  was  thirty.  I 've  tried  everything,  heard  everything,  done 
everything,  know  everything  ;  and  here  I  am,  a  man  of  thirty-three, 
literally  used  up  —  completely  blase  ! 

^  Leech.  Nonsense,  man  !  —  used  up,  indeed  !  —  with  your  wealth, 
with  your  twenty  estates  in  the  sunniest  spots  in  England,  —  not  to 
mention  that  Utopia,  within  four  walls,  in  the  Rue  de  ProvsTice,  in 
Paris. 

Sir  C.   I 'm  dead  with  ennui  ! 

Leech.   Ennui !  poor  Croesus  ! 
^  Sir  C.  ^  Croesus  !  —  no,  I 'm  no  Croesus !  My  father,  —  you  Ve  seen 
his  portrait,  good  old  fellow  !  —  he  certainly  did  leave  me  a  little  mat- 
ter of  twelve  thousand  pounds  a  year ;  but,  after  all  — 

Leech.   0,  come  !  • — 

Sir  C.   0,  I  don't  complain  of  it. 

Leech.   I  should  think  not. 

Sir  C.  0,  no ;  there  are  some  people  who  can  manage  to  do  » 
less,  —  on  credit. 

Leech.  I  know  several.  My  dear  Coldstream,  you  should  try 
ehange  of  scene. 

Sir  C,  I  have  tried  it ;  —  what 's  the  use  ? 

Leech.  But  I 'd  gallop  all  over  Europe. 

Sir  C.  I  have  ;  —  there 's  nothing  in  it. 

T^ech.  Nothing  in  all  Europe  ? 

Sir  C.  Nothing  !  —  0,  dear,  yes  !  I  remember,  at  one  time,  I  dkl, 
somehow,  gro  about  a  good  daal. 


618 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Leech.  You  should  go  to  Switzerland. 

Sir  C.  I  ha^  e  been.  —  Nothing  there,  —  people  say  sc  nuch  about 
everything.  There  certainly  were  a  few  glaciers,  some  monks,  and 
large  dogs,  and  thick  ankles,  and  bad  wine,  and  Mont  Blano  ;  yes,  and 
there  was  ice  on  the  top,  too  ;  but  I  prefer  the  ice  at  Gunter's,  —  less 
fcrouble,  and  more  in  it. 

Leech.  Then,  if  Switzerland  would  n't  do,  I 'd  try  Italy. 

Sir  C.  My  dear  Leech,  I 've  tried  it  over  and  over  again,  —  an4 
s^liat  then  ? 

Leech.   Did  not  Rome  inspire  you  ? 

Sir  C.  0,  believe  me,  Tom,  a  most  horrible  hole  !  People  talk  sc 
much  about  these  things.  There 's  the  Coloseum,  now  ;  —  round,  very 
round,  —  a  goodish  ruin  enough ;  but  I  was  disappointed  with  it.  Capi« 
fcol, —  tolerable  high ;  and  St.  Peter's, —  marble,  and  mosaics,  and  foun- 
tains,—  dome  ceytainly  not  badly  scooped;  but  there  was  nothing 
in  it. 

Leech.  Come,  Coldstream,  you  must  admit  we  have  nothing  like 
St.  Peter's  in  London. 

Sir  C.  No,  because  we  don't  want  it ;  but,  if  we  wanted  such  a 
thing,  of  course  we  should  have  it.  A  dozen  gentlemen  meet,  pass 
resolutions,  institute,  and  in  twelve  months  it  would  be  run  up  ;  nay, 
if  that  were  all,  we 'd  buy  St.  Peter's  itself,  and  have  it  sent  over. 

Leech.  Ha,  ha  !  well  said,  —  you  're  quite  right.  What  say  you  to 
beautiful  Naples  ? 

Sir  C.  Not  bad,  —  excellent  water-melons,  and  goodish  opera; 
they  took  me  up  Vesuvius,  —  a  horrid  bore  !  It  smoked  a  good  deal, 
certainly,  but  altogether  a  wretched  mountain  ;  —  saw  the  crater  — 
looked  down,  but  there  was  nothing  in  it. 

Leech.   But  the  bay  ? 

Sir  C.  Inferior  to  Dublin  ! 

Leech.  The  Campagna? 

Sir  C.  A  swamp  ! 

Leech.   Greece  ? 

Sir  C.  A  morass ! 

Leech.   Athens  ? 

Sir  C.  A  bad  Edinburgh ! 

Leech.  Egypt  ? 

Sir  C.  A  desert  I 

Leech.  The  Pyramids? 

Sir  C.  Humbugs !  —  nothing  in  any  of  them !  You  bore  me.  ht 
it  possible  that  you  cannot  invent  something  that  would  make  my 
blood  boil  in  my  veins,  —  my  hair  stand  on  end,  —  my  heart  beat,  —  my 
pulse  rise ;  —  that  would  produce  an  excitement  —  an  em  )tion  —  a  oenr- 
BatioE  —  a  palpitation  —  but,  no !  — 

Leech.   I 've  an  idea  ! 

Sir  C.  You  «    What  is  it  » 

Lfiech.  Marry ' 


EHETOBlC^ii  A.:TD  DRAlViAriC.  -  -  COYNE. 


Sir  C,  Hum !  —  well,  not  bad.   There 's  novelty  about  the  notion 
It  never  did  strike  me  to  —  0,  but,  no  :  I  should  be  borod  with  ^.h* 
axertion  of  choosing.  If  a  wife,  now,  could  be  had  like  a  dinner  —  for 
ordering. 

Leech.  She  can,  by  you.  Take  the  first  woman  that  comes :  on  my 
life,  she  '11  not  refuse  twelve  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

Sir  C.  Come,  I  don't  dislike  the  project ;  I  almost  feel  something 
like  a  sensation  coming.  I  have  n't  felt  so  excited  for  some  time ;  it  'a 
a  novel  enjoyment  —  a  surprise !    I  '11  try  it. 


40.  MOSES  AT  THE  FAIR.  — S.  Coyne. 

Jenkinson,  having  thrown  aside  liis  disguise  as  a  quack  doctor,  enters  with  a  box  under  his 
arm,  encounters  Moses,  and  sets  down  his  box. 

Jenkinson.  A  wonderful  man  !    A  wonderful  man ! 

Moses.  Ah,  a  patient  of  that  impudent  quack  doctor. 

Jen.  Quack  doctor,  Sir  ?  Would  there  were  more  such !  One 
draught  of  his  aqua  soliginus  has  cured  me  of  a  sweating  sickness,  that 
was  on  me  now  these  six  years  ;  and  carried  a  large  imposthume  off 
my  throat,  that  scarce  let  me  eat,  drink  or  sleep,  except  in  an  upright 

posture,  and  now  it  has  gone  as  clean,  saving  your  presence,  as  

[picks  his  pocket]  —  that,  Sir  !  0,  a  wonderful  man I  came  here, 
afc  full  length,  in  a  cart ;  but  I  shall  ride  back  as  upright  as  a  gate-post, 
if  I  can  but  come  by  a  horse. 

Ifoses  [aside].  A  customer  for  the  colt;  he  seems  a  simple  fellow. 
I  have  a  horse  to  sell,  Sir. 

Jen.  0 !  I  warrant  me  you  are  one  of  those  cozening  horse-jockeys 
that  take  in  poor  honest  folk.  I  know  no  more  of  horses  than  you  do 
of  Greek. 

Moses.  Nay  —  [aside]  —  but  I  must  appear  simple.—  I  assure  you. 
Sir,  that  you  need  not  fear  being  cozened  by  me.    I  have  a  good 
stout  colt  for  sale,  that  has  been  worked  in  the  plough  these  two  years 
you  can  but  step  aside  and  look  at  him. 

Jen.  Well,  as  for  that,  I  don't  care  if  I  do;  but,  bless  me !  I  was 
forgettmg  my  wares.  ^2Ues  up  his  box. 

Mo^^^  What  have  you  there  ? 

JeTm^mysteriousJy].  Ah  !  that 's  a  secret.  They  're  my  wares. 
There  s  a  good  twelve  pounds'  worth  under  the  lid  of  that  box.  But 
you  '11  not  talk  about  it,  or  I  might  be  robbed ;  iu.  fair 's  full  of 
rogues  ;  perhaps  you  're  one  of  'em,— you  look  mighty  sharp  ! 

Moses.  Nay,  my  good  man,  I  am  as  honest  as  thyself;  [as^de^  - 
though  perhaps  not  quite  such  a  simpleton ! 

Jen.  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do  look  at  thy  horse;  [aside] 
and  you  may  say  good-by  to  him.  —  But  you  're  sure  he 's  quiet  \l 
ride  and  drive  ?  "  n 

.  Moses.  I 've  driven  him  myself,  and  I  am  not  one  that  driveth  %ri. 
ously,-  and  you  may  believe  he 's  quiet  to  ride,  when  I  tell  you  He 's 
earned  my  mother,  an  old  lady,  and  never  thrown  her.  [Ande.]  It 's 


THE  STANUAKO  speaker. 


true,  she  tumbled  off  once ;  but  tbat  was  her  fault,  and  not  th« 
colt's. 

Jen.  Then,  I  don't  care  if  I  say  a  bargain.  How  much  is  it  to  be  \ 
I  don't  like  paying  more  than  ten  guineas. 

Moses  [aside].  He 's  not  worth  half  the  money!  You  shall  name 
your  o\^n  price ;  [aside]  —  and  then  nobody  can  say  T  chea+^^d  him, 

Jen.  What  say  you  to  nine  guineas,  and  the  odd  half-guinea  for 
saddle  and  bridle  ? 

Moses.  Nay,  I  would  not  drive  a  hard  bargain,  —  I 'm  content. 

Jen.  Stop  a  bit,  and  I  '11  give  the  money.  [Pretends  to  search  his 
fochets.]  Eh  ?  —  O,  nay,  't  is  t'  other  pocket ;  no,  0  !  I 'm  a  ruined 
man  !  —  I  be  robbed  —  thieves  !    I  be  robbed  — 

Moses.  Robbed  ?  This  comes  of  carrying  money.  "  Cantabit  vacuua 
coram  latrone  viator,"  as  Juvenal  says.  But  I  will  lend  thee  enough 
to  take  thee  home  again.        [  Going  to  put  his  hand  i?ito  his  pocket. 

Jen.  [prevents  him].  Nay,  good  young  man,  I  have  friends  enow 
in  this  place  who  will  do  that  for  me.  It  is  the  loss  of  the  horse  that 
vexes  me.  Hold  !  —  perhaps,  though  I  can  no  longer  buy,  you  may 
be  willing  to  make  a  barter? 

Moses.  Why,  the  practice  of  barter  was  much  used  among  the 
ancients;  and,  indeed,  the  Lacedemonians  had  no  coined  money  until 
after  the  time  of  Lycurgus,  as  you  are  aware. 

Jen.  No  —  I  can't  say  I  know  the  family.  But  will  you  exchange 
your  horse  against  my  wares  ?  There 's  a  good  twelve  pounds'  worth 
of  'em. 

Moses.  What  are  they  ?    Deprome  —  that  is,  bring  them  forth. 
Jen.  [opens  his  box],  A.  gross  of  green  spectacles,  fine  pebbles  and 
silver  rims.  [2hking  a  pair  out  of  case. 

Moses.  A  gross  of  green  spectacles.  [Taking  a  pair. 

Jen.  A  dozen  dozen. 

Moses.  Let's  see ;  [aside,  calculates]  —  twelve  times  twelve  is  - 
and  twenty-one 's  into  ~  go  —  yes,  a  capital  bargain  !  —  I  accept :  you 
take  the  colt,  and  I  '11  take  the  spectacles.    [  Offering  to  take  the  box. 

Jen.  Nay,  nay  !  1  '11  give  you  the  box  when  you 've  given  me  the 
colt ;  —  so,  come ! 

Moses.  A  gross  of  green  spectacles!  Huzza!  [Aside.]  I  '11  retail 
them  for  twice  the  money.  "  Nocte  pluit  tota  redeunt  spectacula 
mane  "  —  "  There  come  back  spectacles  many."  Ha,  ha  !  the  silly  fel- 
low !  Well,  it 's  not  my  fault,  he  will  cheat  himself,  —  ha,  ha  !  0, 
MoseH  is  a  simpleton,  is  he  ?  Moses  can't  make  a  bargain,  can't  he ) 
^  [Exit. 

Jen.  Of  all  the  green  spectacles  I  ever  sold,  I  must  say  you  're  th« 
giecnest.  ^  

41    VAN  DEN  BOSCII  AND  VAN  ARTEVELDE.  ~H*jnry  Taj/^or. 

Artevelde.  This  is  a  mighty  matter,  Van  den  Bosch, 
A.nd  nmch  to  be  revolved  ere  it  be  answered. 

Van  den  Hosch.  The  people  shall  eW  t  thee  with  one  voioe 


RHETORICAL  AND  DflAMATIC.  —  1A7L0B. 

1  will  insure  the  White-Hoods,  and  the  rest 

Will  eagerly  accept  thy  nomination, 

So  to  be  rid.  of  some  that  they  like  less. 

Thy  name  is  honored  both  of  rich  and  poor ; 

For  all  are  mindful  of  the  glorious  rule 

Thy  father  bore,  when  Flanders,  prosperous  then, 

From  end  to  end  obeyed  him  as  one  town. 

Art.  They  may  remember  it ;  and,  Van  den  IJosch, 
May  I  not,  too,  bethink  me  of  the  end 
To  which  this  People  brought  my  noble  father  ^ 
They  gorged  the  fruits  of  his  good  husbandry 
Till,  drunk  with  long  prosperity,  and  blind 
With  too  much  fatness,  they  tore  up  the  root 
From  which  their  common  weal  had  sprung  and  flourish^ 

Van  den  B.  Nay,  Master  Philip,  let  the  past  be  past. 

Art.  Here,  on  the  doorstead  of  my  father's  house, 
The  blood  of  his  they  spilt  is  seen  no  more. 
But  when  1  was  a  child  I  saw  it  there ; 
For  so  long  as  my  widow-mother  lived 
Water  came  never  near  the  sanguine  stain. 
She  loved  to  show  it  me  ;  and  then,  with  awe, 
But  hoarding  still  the  purpose  of  revenge, 
I  heard  the  tale  ;  which,  like  a  daily  prayer 
Repeated,  to  a  rooted  feeling  grew,  — 
How  long  he  fought ;  how  falsely  came  like  friends 
The  villains  Guisebert  Grutt  and  Simon  Bette ; 
All  the  base  murder  of  the  one  by  many  ! 
Even  such  a  brutal  multitude  as  they 
Who  slew  my  father ;  yea,  who  slew  their  own 
(For  like  one  had  he  ruled  the  parricides). 
Even  such  a  multitude  thou  'dst  have  me  govern. 

Van  den  B.  Why,  what  if  Jacques  Artevolde  was  kiilei 
He  had  his  reign,  and  that  for  many  a  year, 
And  a  great  glory  did  he  gain  thereby. 
And  as  for  Guisebert  Grutt  and  Simon  Bette, 
Their  breath  is  in  their  nostrils  as  was  his. 
If  you  be  as  stout-hearted  as  your  father, 
And  mindful  of  the  villanous  trick  they  played  him, 
Their  hour  of  reckoning  is  well-nigh  come. 
Of  that,  and  of  this  base,  false-hearted  league 
They  're  making  with  the  earl,  these  two  to  us 
Shall  give  account. 

Art.  They  cannot  render  back 
The  golden  bowl  that 's  broken  at  the  fountain, 
Or  mend  the  wheel  that 's  broken  at  the  cistern 
Or  twist  again  the  silver  cord  that 's  loosed. 
Yea,  life  for  life,  vile  bankrupts  as  they  are, 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


Their  wortbless  lives,  for  liis  of  countless  price,  — 
is  their  whole  wherewithal  to  pay  their  debt. 
Yet,  retribution  is  a  goodly  thing, 
And  it  were  ^  9II  to  wring  the  payment  fron)  them 
Even  to  the  utmost  drop  of  their  heart's  biood ! 

Van  den  B.  Then  will  I  call  the  People  to  the  squara, 
And  speak  for  your  election. 

Art.  Not  so  fast. 
Your  vessel,  Van  den  Bosch,  hath  felt  the  storm  " 
She  rolls  dismasted  in  an  ugly  swell, 
And  you  would  make  a  jury-mast  of  me. 
Whereon  to  spread  the  tatters  of  your  canvas. 
And  what  am  I  ?    Why,  I  am  as  the  oak 
W^hich  stood  apart,  far  down  the  vale  of  life, 
Growing  retired,  beneath  a  quiet  sky. 
Wherefore  should  this  be  added  to  the  wreck  ? 

Van  den  B.  I  pray  you,  speak  it  in  the  Burgher's  tongue 
I  lack  the  scholarship  to  talk  in  tropes. 

Art.    The  question,  to  be  plain,  is  briefly  this  :  — 
Shall  I,  who,  chary  of  tranquillity. 
Not  busy  in  this  factious  city's  broils, 
Nor  frequent  in  the  market-place,  eschewed 
The  even  battle,  —  shall  I  join  the  rout  ? 

Van  den  B.  Times  are  sore  changed,  I  see ;  there 's  none  in  G  ami 
That  answers  to  the  name  of  Artevelde. 
Thy  father  did  not  carp  nor  question  thus. 
When  Ghent  invoked  his  aid.    The  days  have  been 
When  not  a  citizen  drew  breath  in  Ghent 
But  freely  would  have  died  in  Freedom's  cause. 

Art.  The  cause,  I  grant  thee,  Van  den  Bosch,  is  good ;  . 
And,  were  I  linked  to  earth  no  otherwise 
But  that  my  whole  heart  centred  in  myself, 
I  could  have  tossed  you  this  poor  life  to  play  with, 
Taking  no  second  thought.    But  as  things  are, 
I  will  revolve  the  matter  warily, 
And  send  thee  word  betimes  of  my  conclusion. 

Van  denB.  Betimes  it  must  be,  for  the  White-IIood  chieft 
Meet  two  hours  hence  ;  and  ere  we  separate 
Our  course  must  be  determined. 

Art.  In  two  hours, 
Lf  1  be  for  you,  I  will  send  this  ring 
[n  token  I  haA'e  so  resolved.    Farewell ' 

Van  den  B.  Philip  Van  Artevelde,  a  greater  man 
Than  ever  Ghent  beheld,  we  '11  make  of  thee, 
If  thou  be  bold  enough  to  try  this  venture. 
GoJ  ^ve  thee  heart  0  do  so !   Fare  thee  well 

[Exit  Van  den  Bosch.] 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC-  -  ALLINGHAM.  O'lt 

Art.  [af^pr  a  long  pause].  Is  it  vain  glory  that  thus  whigj>ers  me 
rhat 't  is  ignoble  to  have  led  my  life 
In  idle  meditations  ?  —  that  the  times 
Demand  me,  that  they  call  my  father's  name  ? 
0,  what  a  fiery  heart  was  his  !  such  souls, 
Whose  sudden  visitations  daze  the  world. 
Vanish  like  lightning,  but  they  leave  behind 
A  voice  that  in  the  distance  far  away 
Wakens  the  slumbering  ages.    O,  my  father ! 
Thy  life  is  eloquent,  and  more  persuades 
Unto  dominion  than  thy  death  deters  ! 


42  THE  WEATHERCOCK. -X  T.^/Zm^-Aam. 

Old  Fickle.  What  reputation,  what  honor,  what  profit  can  accrue 
to  you  from  such  conduct  as  yours  ?  One  moment  you  tell  me  you 
are  going  to  become  the  greatest  musician  in  the  world,  and  straight 
you  fill  my  house  with  fiddlers. 

Tristram  Fickle.  I  am  clear  out  of  that  scrape  now,  Sir. 

Old  F.  Then,  from  a  fiddler,  you  are  metamorphosed  into  a  philos- 
opher ;  and,  for  the  noise  of  drums,  trumpets  and  hautboys,  you  sub- 
stitute a  vile*  jargon,  more  unintelligible  than  was  ever  heard  at  the 
tower  of  Babel. 

Trl  You  are  right.  Sir.  I  have  found  out  that  philosophy  is  folly; 
so  I  have  cut  the  philosophers  of  all  sects,  from  Plato  and  Aristotle 
down  to  the  puzzlers  of  modern  date. 

Old  F.  How  much  had  I  to  pay  the  cooper,  the  other  day,  for  bar- 
relling you  up  in  a  large  tub,  when  you  resolved  to  live  like  Diogenes  ? 

Tri.  You  should  not  have  paid  him  anything.  Sir ;  for  the  tub 
would  not  hold.    You  see  the  contents  are  run  out. 

Old  F.  No  jesting.  Sir  !  this  is  no  laughing  matter.  Your  follies 
have  tired  me  out.  I  verily  believe  you  have  taken  the  whole  round 
of  arts  and  sciences  in  a  month,  and  have  been  of  fifty  difierent  minds 
in  half  an  hour. 

Tri.  And,  by  that,  shown  the  versatility  of  my  genius. 

Old  F.  Don't  tell  me  of  versatility,  Sir !  Let  me  see  a  little 
steadiness.  You  have  nevsr  yet  been  constant  to  anything  but 
extravagance. 

Tri.  Yes,  Sir, —  one  thing  more. 

Old  F.  What  is  that.  Sir  ? 

Tri.  Afiection  for  you.  However  my  head  may  have  wandered, 
my  heart  has  always  been  constantly  attached  to  the  kindest  of  parents ; 
ind,  from  this  moment,  I  am  resolved  to  lay  my  follies  aside,  and  pur- 
sue  that  line  of  conduct  which  will  be  most  pleasing  to  the  best  of 
fathers  and  of  friends. 

^  Old  F.  Well  said,  my  boy,  —  well  said  !  You  make  me  happy, 
indeed !  \Fatting  him  on  the  shoulder?^  Now,  then,  my  dear  Tri* 
«ram,  let  me  know  what  you  really  mean  to  do 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Tri.  To  study  the  law  — 
Old  F.  The  law  ! 

Tri.  1  am  most  re^lutely  bent  on  following  that  profession. 
Old  F.  N  d  ! 

Tri.  Absolutely  and  irrevocably  fixed. 

Old  F. ,  Better  and  better !  I  am  overjoyed.  Why,  't  is  the  very 
tiling  I  wished.  Now  I  am  happy !  [Tristram  makes  gestures  as 
if  speaking.']    See  how  his  mind  is  engaged  ! 

Tri.  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury  — 

Old  F.  Why,  Tristram  ! 

Tri.  This  is  a  cause  — 

Old  F.  0,  my  dear  boy !  I  forgive  you  all  your  tricks.  I  see  some- 
thing about  you  now  that  I  can  depend  on.  [Tristram  continmi 
making  gestures.] 

Tri.  I  am  for  the  plaintiff  in  this  cause  — 

Old  F.  Bravo !  bravo  !  Excellent  boy !  I  '11  go  and  order  your 
books,  directly ! 

Tri.  'T  is  done,  Sir. 
Old  F.  What,  already  ! 

Tri.  I  ordered  twelve  square  feet  of  books,  when  I  fii'st  thought  of 
embracing  the  arduous  profession  of  the  law. 

Old  F.  What,  do  you  mean  to  read  by  the  foot  ? 

Tri.  By  the  foot.  Sir ;  that  is  the  only  way  to  become  a  solid 
lawyer. 

Old  F.  Twelve  square  feet  of  learning  !    Well  — 

Tri.  I  have  likewise  sent  for  a  barber  — 

Old  F.  A  barber !    Wiiat,  is  he  to  teach  you  to  shave  close  ? 

Tri.  He  is  to  shave  one-half  of  my  head.  Sir. 

Old  F.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  cannot  perfectly  understand  what 
tliat  has  to  do  with  the  study  of  the  law. 

Tri.  Did  you  never  hear  of  Demosthenes,  Sir,  the  Athenian  ora- 
tor? He  had  half  his  head  shaved,  and  locked  himself  up  in  a  coal- 
cellar. 

Old  F.  Ah^  he  was  perfectly  right  to  lock  himself  up,  after  having 
undergone  such  an  operation  as  that.  He  certainly  would  have  made 
rather  an  odd  figure  abroad. 

Tri.  I  think  I  see  him  now,  awaking  the  dormant  patriotism  of  his 
countrymen,  —  lightning  in  his  eye,  and  thunder  in  his  voice ;  he 
pours  forth  a  torrent  of  eloquence,  resistless  in  its  force ;  the  throne 
of  Philip  trembles  while  he  speaks  ;  he  denounces,  and  indignation 
ftlls  the  bosom  of  his  hearers ;  he  exposes  the  impending  danger,  and 
every  one  sees  impending  ruin  ;  he  threatens  the  tyrant,  —  they  grasp 
their  swords  ■  he  calls  for  vengeance,  —  their  thu'sty  weapons  glitter  in 
iho  air,  and  thousands  reverberate  the  cry !  One  soul  animates  a 
nation,  and  that  sou  l  is  the  soul  of  the  orator ! 

Old  F.  0,  what  i  figure  he  will  make  on  the  King's  Bench  !  But. 
»m«  1  will  tell  you  now  what  ray  plan  is,  and  then  you  will  see  hss^ 


BHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC. 


o25 


happLy  tais  determination  of  yours  will  further  it.  You  have  ^TrU' 
tram  makes  extravagant  gestures,  as  if  speaking]  often  heard  ma 
speak  of  my  friend  Briefwit,  the  barrister  — 

Trz.  Who  is  against  m.e  in  this  cause  — 

Old  F.  He  is  a  most  learned  lawyer  — 

Tri.  But,  as  I  have  justice  on  my  side  — 

Old  F.  Zounds  !  he  does  n't  hear  a  word  I  say  !    Why,  Tristram 
Tri.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  ;  I  was  prosecuting  my  studies.  , 
Old  F.  Now,  attend  — 

Ti  i.  As  my  learned  friend  observes  —  Go  on,  Sir ;  I  am  all 
attention. 

Old  F.  Well,  my  friend  the  counsellor  — 

Tri.  Say  learned  friend,  if  you  please.  Sir.  We  gentlemen  of  the 
law  always  ~ 

Old  F.  Well,  well,  —  my  learned  friend  — 
Tri.  A  black  patch ! 
Old  F.  Will  you  listen,  and  be  silent  ? 
Tri.  I  am  as  mute  as  a  judge. 

Old  F.  My  friend,  I  say,  has  a  ward  who  is  very  handsome,  and 
who  has  a  very  handsome  fortune.  She  would  make  you  a  charming 
wife. 

Tri.  This  is  an  action  — 

Old  F.  Now,  I  have  hitherto  been  afraid  to  introduce  you  to  my 
friend,  the  barrister,  because  I  thought  your  lightness  and  his  gravity — 
Tri.  Might  be  plaintiff  and  defendant. 

Old  F.  But  now  you  are  grown  serious  and  steady,  and  have 
resolved  to  pursue  his  profession,  I  will  shortly  bring  you  together ; 
you  will  obtain  his  good  opinion,  and  all  the  rest  follows,  of  course. 

Tri.  A  verdict  in  ray  favor. 

Old  F.  You  marry  and  sit  down,  happy  for  life, 

Tri.  In  the  King's  Bench. 

Old  F.  Bravo!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  But  now  run  to. your  study  —  run 
to  your  study,  my  dear  Tristram,  and  I  '11  go  and  call  upon  the  coun- 
seller. 

Tj'i.  I  remove  by  habeas  corpus. 

Old  F.  Pray  have  the  goodness  to  make  ha^te,  then.  [Hurrying 
him  q/f.] 

Tri.  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  this  is  a  cause  —  \Exi^.] 
Old  F.  The  inimitable  boy !    I  am  now  the  happiest  father  living 
What  genius  he  has !    He  '11  be  lord  chancellor,  one  day  or  other,  a 
dare  be  sworn.    I  am  sure  he  has  talents  !    0,  how  I  long  to  see  him 
ftt  the  bar ! 


43.  SALADIN,  MAIEK  ADKEL,  ATTENDANT.  —New  Mof  :hly  Magaztru. 

Attendant.  A  stranger  craves  admittance  to  your  highness 
Saladin.  Whence  comes  he  ? 
Atten.  That  I  know  not. 


626 


THE  STANDARD  SPHiAKEB 


linveloped  with  a  vestment  of  strange  form, 
His  countenance  is  hidden ;  but  his  step, 
His  loitj  port,  his  voice  in  vain  disguised, 
Proclaim  —  if  that  I  dare  pronounce  it  — 
Sal  Whom? 

At  ten.  ;Thy  royal  brother  ' 
Sal.  Bring  him  instantly.    [Exit  Attendant.] 
Now,  with  his  specious,  smooth,  persuasive  tongue, 
Fraught  with  some  wily  subterfuge,  he  thinks 
To  dissipate  my  anger.    He  shall  die ! 

[Enter  Attendant  and  Malek  AdJiel? 
Leave  us  together.   [Exit  Attendant.']   [Aside.]   I  should  know  tiu2 
form. 

Now  summon  all  thy  fortitude,  my  soul. 
Nor,  though  thy  blood  cry  for  him,  spare  the  guilty  ! 
[Aloud.]    Well,  stranger,  speak ;  but  first  unveil  thyself, 
For  Saladin  must  view  the  form  that  fronts  him. 

Malek  Adhel.  Behold  it,  then  ! 

Sal.  I  see  a  traitor's  visage. 

Mai.  Ad.  A  brother's  ! 

Sal.  No  ! 

Saladin  owns  no  kindred  with  a  villain. 

Mai.  Ad.  0,  patience,  Heaven  !    Had  any  tongue  but  thine 
Uttered  that  word,  it  ne'er  should  speak  another. 

Sal.  And  why  not  now  ?    Can  this  heart  be  more  pierced 
By  Malek  Adhel's  sword  than  by  his  deeds  ? 
0,  thou  hast  made  a  desert  of  this  bosom ! 
For  open  candor,  planted  sly  disguise ; 
For  confidence,  suspicion ;  and  the  glow 
Of  generous  friendship,  tenderness  and  love, 
Forever  banished !    Whither  can  I  turn, 
When  he  by  blood,  by  gratitude,  by  faith, 
By  every  tie,  bound  to  support,  forsakes  me  ? 
Who,  who  can  stand,  when  Malek  Adhel  falls  ? 
Henceforth  I  turn  me  from  the  sweets  of  love : 
The  smiles  of  friendship,  and  this  glorious  world, 
In  which  all  find  some  heart  to  rest  upon, 
Shall  be  to  Saladin  a  cheerless  void,  — 
HLs  brother  has  betrayed  him ! 

Mai.  Ad.  Thou  art  softened  ; 
r  am  thy  brother,  then  ;  but  late  thou  saidst- 
My  ton^-ue  can  never  utter  t*he  base  i.itle ! 

Sal.  \\^as  it  traitor  ?    True ! 
Thou  hast  betrayed  me  in  my  fondest  hopes  ! 
Villain  ?    'T  is  just ;  the  title  is  appropriate 
Dissembler  ?    'T  is  not  written  in  thy  face  \ 
No,  nor  imprinted  on  that  specious  brow  : 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC. 


527 


Bat  on  this  bieaking  heart  the  name  is  stamped, 

Forever  stamped,  with  that  of  Malek  Adhel  I 

Thinkest  thou  I 'm  softened  ?    By  Mohammed !  these  nands 

Should  crush  these  aching  eyeballs,  ere  a  tear 

Fall  from  them  at  thy  fate  !    O,  monster,  monster . 

The  brute  that  tears  the  infant  from  its  nurse 

Is  excellent  to  thee,  for  in  his  form 

The  impulse  of  his  nature  may  be  read ; 

But  thou,  so  beautiful,  so  proud,  so  noble, 

0,  what  a  wretch  art  thou !    0  !  can  a  term 

in  all  the  various  tongues  of  man  be  found 

Co  match  thy  infamy  ? 
Mai.  Ad.  Go  on  !  TO  on  ! 

T  is  but  a  little  while  fo  hear  thee,  Saladin ; 

knd,  bursting  at  thy  fett,  this  heart  will  prove 

its  penitence,  at  least. 

Sal.  Thai  were  an  end 
1^00  noble  for  a  tiaitor !    The  bowstring  is 
A  more  appropriate  finish  !    Thou  shalt  die ! 

Mai.  Ad.  And  ueath  were  welcome  at  another's  mandate 
What,  what  have  1  to  live  for  ?    Be  it  so, 
If  that,  in  all  thy  armies,  c^r^  be  found 
An  executing  hand. 

Sal.  0,  doubt  it  not  1 
They  're  eager  for  the  office.  Peiiidy, 
So  black  as  thine,  effaces  Ironi  their  tiiinds 
All  memory  of  thy  former  excellence. 

Mai.  Ad.  Defer  not,  then,  their  wishes.  Saladin, 
If  e'er  this  form  was  joyful  to  thy  sight, 
This  voice  seemed  grateful  to  thine  ear,  acoedc 
To  my  last  prayer  :  —  0,  lengthen  not  this  seen*. 
To  which  the  agonies  of  death  were  pleasing  I 
Let  me  die  speedily  ! 

Sal.  This  very  hour  ! 
[Aside.]    For,  0  !  the  more  I  look  upon  that  tacc> 
The  more  I  bear  the  accents  of  that  voice. 
The  monarch  softens,  and  the  judge  is  lost 

In  all  the  brother's  weakness ;  yet  such  guilt,  

Such  vile  ingratitude,  —  it  calls  for  vengeance  ; 
And  vengeance  it  shall  have  !    What,  ho  !  who  waits  tnett,  ^ 

[Enter  jxttenaaTU 

Attsn.  Did  your  highness  call  ? 

Sal.  Assemble  quickly 
My  forces  in  the  court.    Tell  them  they  come 
To  view  the  death  of  yonder  bosom-traitor. 
And,  bid  them  mark,  that  he  who  will  not  spare 
His  brother  when  he  errs,  expects  obedience. 
Silent  obedience  from  his  followers.    [Exit  Attendant  ] 


THE  STANDAilD  SPEAKKK. 


Mai.  Ad  Now.  Saladin, 
The  word  is  given ,  I  have  nothing  more 
To  fear  from  thee,  my  brother.    I  am  not 
About  to  crave  a  miserable  life. 
Without  thy  love,  thy  honor,  thy  esteem, 
Life  were  a  burden  to  me.    Think  not,  either, 
The  justice  of  thy  sentence  I  would  question. 
But  one  request  now  trembles  on  my  tongue,  — 
One  wish  still  clinging  round  the  heart,  which  soon 
Not  even  that  shall  torture,  —  will  it,  then, 
Thinkest  thou,  thy  slumbers  render  quieter, 
Thy  waking  thoughts  more  pleasing,  to  reflect, 
That  when  thy  voice  had  doomed  a  brother''  death, 
The  last  request  which  e'er  was  his  to  utte^ 
Thy  harshness  made  him  carry  to  the  gra  e  ? 

Sal.  Speak,  then ;  but  ask  thyself  if  thou  hast  reasoa 
To  look  for  much  indulgence  here. 

Mai.  Ad.  I  have  not ! 
Yet  will  I  ask  for  it.    We  part  forever  ; 
This  is  our  last  farewell ;  the  king  is  satisfied  ; 
The  judge  has  spoke  the  irrevocable  sentence. 
None  sees,  none  hears,  save  that  omniscient  power,  . 
Which,  trust  me,  will  not  frown  to  look  upon 
Two  brothers  part  like  such.    When,  in  the  face 
Of  forces  once  my  own,  I 'm  led  to  death,  ^ 
Then  be  thine  eye  unmoistened ;  let  thy  voice 
Then  speak  my  doom  untrcmbling  ;  then. 
Unmoved,  behold  this  stilf  and  blackened  corse. 
But  now  I  ask  —  nay,  turn  not,  Saladin  !  — 
I  ask  one  single  pressure  of  thy  hand ; 
From  that  stern  eye  one  solitary  tear  — 
O,  torturing  recollection  I  —  one  kind  word 

From  the  loved  tongue  which  once  breathed  naught  but  kindneM 

Still  silent  ?    Brother !  friend  !  beloved  companion 

Of  all  my  youthful  sports  !  —  are  they  forgotten  ?  — 

Strike  me  with  deafness,  make  me  blind,  0  Heaven ! 

Let  me  not  see  this  unforgiving  man 

Smile  at  my  agonies  !  nor  hear  that  voice 

Pronounce  my  doom,  which  would  not  say  one  word 

One  little  word,  whose  cherished  memory  ^ 

Would  soothe  the  struggles  of  departing  life ! 

Yet,  yet  thou  wilt !    0,  turn  thee,  Saladin ! 

Look  on  my  face,  —  thou  canst  not  spurn  me  then , 

Look  on  the  once-loved  face  of  Malek  Adhel 

For  the  last  time,  and  call  him  — 

Sal.  [seizing  his  hand].    Brother !  brother ! 

Mai,  Ad.  [breaking  away].    Now  call  thy  followew. 


RHETORICAL  AND  DRAMATIC. 


Death  has  not  now 

A  single  pang  in  store.    Proceed !  I 'm  ready. 

Sal.  0,  art  thou  ready  to  forgive,  my  brother  f 
To  pardon  him  who  found  one  single  error. 
One  little  failing,  'mid  a  splendid  throng 
Of  glorious  qualities  — 

Mai.  Ad  0,  stay  thee,  Saladin ! 
I  did  not  ask  for  life.    I  only  wished 
To  carry  thy  forgiveness  to  tne  grave. 
No,  Emperor,  the  loss  of  Cesarea 
Cries  loudly  for  the  blood  of  Malek  Adhel. 
Thy  soldiers,  too,  demand  that  he  who  lost 
What  cost  them  many  a  weary  hour  to  gain 
Should  expiate  his  ofiences  with  his  life. 
Lo !  even  now  they  crowd  to  view  my  death, 
Thy  just  impartiality.    I  go  ! 
Pleased  by  my  fate  to  add  one  other  leaf 
To  thy  proud  wreath  of  glory.  [Going.'] 
Sal.  Thou  shalt  not.    [Ejitei^  Attendant.} 
Atten.  My  lord,  the  troops  assembled  by  your  order 
Tumultuous  throng  the  courts.    The  prince's  death 
Not  one  of  them  but  vows  he  will,  not  su.fier. 
The  mutes  have  fled  ;  the  very  guards  rebel. 
Nor  think  I,  in  this  city's  spacious  round. 
Can  e'er  be  found  a  hand  to  do  the  office. 
Mai.  Ad.  0,  fliithftil  friends !    [To  Atten.]    Thine  shall 
Atten.  Mine  ?    Never ! 
The  other  first  shall  lop  it  from  the  body. 

Sal.  They  teach  the  Emperor  his  duty  well. 
Tell  them  he  thanks  them  for  it.    Tell  them,  too, 
That  ere  their  opposition  reached  our  ears, 
Saladin  had  forgiven  Malek  Adhel. 

Atten.  0  joyful  news ! 
I  haste  to  gladden  many  a  gallant  heart. 
And  dry  the  tear  on  many  a  hardy  cheek. 
Unused  to  such  a  visiter.  [Exit.^ 

Sal.  These  men,  the  meanest  in  society, 
The  outcasts  of  the  earth,  —  by  war,  by  nature. 
Hardened,  and  rendered  callous,  —  these,  who  claim 
No  kindred  with  thee,  —  who  have  never  heard 
Tha  accents  of  affection  from  thy  lips,  — 

0,  these  can  cast  aside  their  vowed  allegiance, 
Throw  off  their  long  obedience,  risk  their  lives, 
To  save  thee  from  destruction !    While  I, 

1,  who  cannot,  in  all  my  m  emory, 

Call  back  one  danger  which  thou  hast  not  shared 
One  day  of  grief,  one  night  of  revelry. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Which  thy  resistless  kindness  hath  not  soothed, 

Or  thy  gay  smile  and  converse  rendered  sweeter,  — 

I,  who  have  thrice  in  the  ensanguined  field, 

When  death  seemed  certain,  only  uttered  —  "  Brother !  " 

And  seen  that  form  Lite  lightning  rush  between 

SaJadin  and  his  foes,  and  that  brave  breast 

Dauntless  exposed  to  many  a  furious  blow 

Intended  for  my  own,  —  I  could  forget 

That 't  was  to  thee  I  owed  the  very  breath 

Which  sentenced  thee  to  perish !    0,  't  is  shamefiil ! 

Thou  canst  not  pardon  me ! 

Mai.  Ad.  By  these  tears,  I  can  ! 
0,  brother  !  from  this  very  hour,  a  new, 
A  glorious  life  commences  !    I  am  all  thine  ! 
Again  the  day  of  gladness  or  of  anguish 
Shall  Malek  Adhel  share ;  and  oft  again 
May  this  sword  lence  thee  in  the  bloody  field. 
Henceforth,  Saladin, 

My  heart,  my  soul,  my  sword,  are  thine  forever  ! 


44.    DAMON  TO  THE  SYRACUSANS.  — /oAn  BoniJW. 

Are  all  content  ? 

A  nation's  rights  betrayed,  and  all  content  ? 

What !  with  your  own  free  willing  hands  yield  up 

The  ancient  fabric  of  your  constitution, 

To  be  a  garrison  for  common  cut-throats  I 

What !  will  ye  all  combine  to  tie  a  stone, 

Each  to  each  other's  neck,  and  drown  like  dogs  ? 

Are  you  so  bound  in  fetters  of  the  mind 

That  there  you  sit,  as  if  you  were  yo^rselves 

Incorporate  with  the  marble  ?    Syracusans  !  — 

But  no !  I  will  not  rail,  nor  chide,  nor  curse  you ! 

I  will  implore  you,  fellow-countrymen, 

With  blinded  eyes,  and  weak  and  broken  speech, 

I  will  implore  you  —  0  !  I  am  weak  in  words, 

But  I  could  bring  such  advocates  before  you  ! 

Your  fathers'  sacred  images ;  old  men. 

That  have  been  grandsires  ;  women  with  their  childreD 

Caught  up  in  fear  and  hurry,  in  their  arms  ;  — 

And  those  old  men  should  lift  their  shivering  voices 

And  palsied  hands,  and  those  affrighted  mothers 

Should  hold  their  innocent  infants  forth,  and  ask, 

Can  you  make  slaves  of  them  f 


PART  NINTH. 


COMIC   AND  SATIRICAL. 


.    9PEEU  SERGEANT   BUZFUZ   IN   THE    CASE    OP   BARBELL  AQAIN^ 

i'iOiiVMCK.  —  Charles  Dickens. 

^^^"^^  ^^^"^  learned  friend,  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  that 
ihis  is  an  action  for  a  breach  of  promise  of  marriage,  in  which  the 
damages  are  laid  at  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  The  plaintiff,  Gentlemen, 
IS  a  wiaow  ;  yes,  Gentlemen,  a  widow.  The  late  Mr.  Bardell,  some  time 
before  his  death,  became  the  father,  Gentlemen,  of  a  little  boy.  With 
this  little  boy,  the  only  pledge  of  her  departed  exciseman,  Mrs.  Bar- 
dell  shrunk  from  the  world,  and  courted  the  retirement  and  tranquil- 
hty  of  Goswell-street ;  and  here  she  placed  in  her  front  parlor-window 
a  written  placard,  bearing  this  inscription,  —  "  Apartments  furnished 
lor  a  single  gentleman.  Inquire  within."  Mrs.  Bardell's  opinions 
of  the  opposite  sex,  Gentlemen,  were  derived  from  a  iono-  contempja- 
tion  of  the  inestimable  qualities  of  her  lost  husband.  8he  had  no 
fear,  —  she  had  no  distrust,  —  all  was  confidence  and  reliance.  "  Mr. 
Bardell,"  said  the  widow,  "  was  a  man  of  honor,  —  Mr.  Bardell  was  a 
man  of  his  word,  —  Mr.  Bardell  was  no  deceiver,  —  Mr.  Bardell  was 
once  a  single  gentleman  himself;  to  single  gentlemen  I  look  for 
protection,  for  assistance,  for  comfort,  and  consolation ;  ~  in  single 
gentlemen  I  shall  perpetually  see  something  to  remind  me  of  what 
Mr.  Bardell  was,  when  he  first  won  my  young  and  untried  affections  ; 
to  a  single  gentleman,  then,  shall  my  lodgings  be  let."  Actuated  by 
this  beautiful  and  touching  impulse  (among  the  best  impulses  of  our 
imperrect  nature,  Gentlemen),  the  lonely  and  desolate  widow  dried  her 
tears,  furnished  her  first  floor,  caught  her  innocent  boy  to  her  maternal 
bosom  and  put  the  bill  up  in  her  parlor-window.  Bid  it  remain 
there  long  ?  No.  The  serpent  was  on  the  watch,  the  train  was  laid, 
the  mine  was  preparing,  the  sapper  and  miner  was  at  work !  Before 
the  bill  had  been  in  the  parlor-window  three  days,  — three  days, 
bcntlemen  —  a  being,  erect  upon  two  legs,  and  bearing  all  the  out- 
^"^^  0^  ^  monster,  knocked  at  the  dooi 

of  Mrs.  Bardell's  house !    He  inquired  within  ;  he  took  the  lodginoy 
and  on  the  very  next  day  he  entered  into  possession  of  them.  Thii 
man  was  I'lckwick,  —  Pickwick,  the  defendant ! 
^  Of  this  man  I  will  say  little.    The  subject  presents  but  few  attrao- 
wons;  an.A  I,  Gentlemen,  am  not  the  man,  nor  are  jou,  Gentlemei;, 


532 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


the  men,  to  delight  in  the  contemplation  of  revolting  hoartlessness, 
and  of  systematic  v^illany.  I  say  systematic  villany,  Gentlemen  •  and 
when  I  say  systematic  villany,  let  me  tell  the  defendant,  Pickwick,  if 
ne  be  in  Court,  as  I  am  informed  he  is,  that  it  would  have  been  more 
decent  in  him,  more  becoming,  if  he  had  stopped  away.  Let  me  tell 
him,  further,  that  a  counsel,  in  his  discharge  of  his  duty,  is  neither  to 
be  intimidated,  nor  bullied,  nor  put  down ;  and  that  any  attempt  to  do 
either  the  one  or  the  other  will  recoil  on  the  head  of  the  attempter,  bo 
he  plaintiff  or  be  he  defendant,  be  his  name  Pickwick,  or  Noakes,  or 
Stoakes,  or  Stiles,  or  Brown,  or  Thompson. 

I  shall  show  you.  Gentlemen,  that  for  two  years  Pickwick  continued 
to  reside  constantly,  and  without  interruption  or  intermission,  at  Mrs 
Bardell's  house.  I  shall  show  you  that  Mrs.  Bardell,  during  the 
whole  of  that  time,  waited  on  him,  attended  to  his  comforts,  cooked 
his  meals,  looked  out  his  linen  for  the  washerwoman  when  it  went 
abroad,  darned,  aired,  and  prepared  it  for  wear  when  it  came  home; 
and,  in  short,  enjoyed  his  fullest  trust  and  confidence.  I  shall  show 
you  that,  on  many  occasions,  he  gave  half-pence,  and  on  some  occasions 
even  sixpence,  to  her  little  boy.  I  shall  prove  to  you,  that  on  one 
occasion,  when  he  returned  from  the  country,  he  distinctly  and  in 
terms  offered  her  marriage  :  previously,  however,  taking  special  care 
that  there  should  be  no  witnesses  to  their  solemn  contract ;  and  I  am 
in  a  situation  to  prove  to  you,  on  the  testimony  of  three  of  his  own 
friends, —  most  unwilling  witnesses.  Gentlemen,  —  most  unwilling  wit- 
nesses, —  that  on  that  morning  he  was  discovered  by  them  holding  the 
plaintiff  in  his  arms,  and  soothing  her  agitation  by  his  caresses  and 
endearments. 

And  now,  Gentlemen,  but  one  word  more.  Two  letters  have 
passed  between  these  parties,  —  letters  that  must  be  viewed  with  a 
cautious  and  suspicious  eye,  —  letters  that  were  evidently  intended,  at 
the  time,  by  Pickwick,  to  mislead  and  delude  any  third  parties  into 
whose  hands  they  might  fall.  Let  me  read  the  first :  —  "  Garraway's, 
twelve  o'clock.  —  Dear  Mrs.  B.  —  Chops  and  Tomato  sauce.  Yours, 
Pickwick."  Gentlemen,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Chops  and  Tomato 
sauce  !  Yours,  Pickwick  !  Chops  !  Gracious  Heavens  !  And  Tomato 
sauce  !  Gentlemen,  is  the  happiness  of  a  sensitive  and  confiding 
female  to  be  trifled  away  by  such  shallow  artifices  as  these?  The 
next  has  no  date  whatever,  which  is  in  itself  suspicious.  —  "  Dear  Mra. 
B.,  I  shall  not  be  at  home  to-morrow.  Slow  coach."  And  then  follows 
this  very  remarkable  expression,  —  "  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  the 
warming-pan."  The  warming-pan  !  Why,  Centlemen,  who  does 
trouble  himself  about  a  warming-pan  ?  Why  is  Mrs.  Bardell  so 
earnestly  entreated  not  to  agitate  herself  about  this  warming-pan, 
unless  (as  is  no  doubt  the  case)  it  is  a  mere  cover  for  hidden  fire  —  a 
mere  substitute  for  some  endearing  word  or  promise,  agreeably  to  a 
preconcerted  system  of  correspondence,  artfully  co!itrived  by  l^ickwick 
with  a  view  to  his  contempla'  d  desertion  ?  And  what  does  this  allu- 
sion to  the  slow  coach  mean '   For  aujght  I  know^  it  may  be  a  referonoe 


COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL.  MOOU. 


535 


to  Pickwick  hims(3lf,  who  has  most  unquestionably  been  a  criminally 
slow  coach  during  the  whole  of  this  transaction,  but  whose  speed  will 
now  be  very  unexpectedly  accelerated,  and  whose  wheels,  Gentlemen, 
as  he  will  find  to  his  cost,  will  very  soon  be  greased  by  you ! 

J3ut  enough  of  this,  Gentlemen.  It  is  difficult  to  smile  with  an 
aching  heart.  My  client's  hopes  and  prospects  are  ruined,  and  it  is 
no  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  her  occupation  is  gone  indeed.  The 
bill  is  down  ~  but  there  is  no  tenant !  Eligible  single  gentlemen  paas 
and  repass  —  but  there  is  no  invitation  for  them  to  inquire  within,  or 
without !  Air  is  gloom  and  silence  in  the  house ;  even  the  voice  of 
the  child  is  hushed  ;  his  inf  mt  sports  are  disregarded,  when  his  mother 
weeps.  But  Pickwick,  Gentlemen,  Pickwick,  the  ruthless  destroyer  -ji 
this  domestic  oasis  in  the  desert  of  Goswell-street,  —  Pickwick,  who  has 
choked  up  the  well,  and  thrown  ashes  on  the  sward,  —  Pickwick,  who 
comes  before  you  to-day  with  his  heartless  tomato-sauce  and  warming- 
pans,  —  Pickwick  still  rears  his  head  with  unblushing  effrontery,  and 
gazes  without  a  sigh  on  the  ruin  he  has  made !  Damages,  Gentlemen, 
heavy  damages,  is  the  only  punishment  with  which  you  can  visit 
him,  —  the  only  recompense  you  can  award  to  my  client !  And  for 
those  damages  she  now  appeals  to  an  enlightened,  a  high-minded,  a 
right-feeling,  a  conscientious,  a  dispassionate,  a  sympathizing,  a  con- 
templative Jury  of  her  civilized  countrymen  ! 


2.    THE  ART  OF  BOOK-KEEPING.  —  Thomas  Hood.    Born,  1798  ;  died,  1845. 

How  hard,  when  those  who  do  not  wish  to  lend,  thus  lose,  their  books, 
Are  snared  by  anglers,  —  folks  that  fish  with  literary  Hooks,  — 
Who  call  and  take  some  favorite  tome,  but  never  read  it  through ;  — - 
They  thus  complete  their  set  at  home,  by  making  one  at  you. 

I,  of  my  "  Spenser  "  quite  bereft,  last  winter  sore  was  shaken  ; 
Of  "  Lamb  "  I 've  but  a  quarter  left,  nor  could  I  save  my  "  Bacon 
And  then  I  saw  my  "  Crabbe,"  at  last,  like  Hamlet,  backward  go ;  , 
And,  as  the  tide  was  ebbing  fast,  of  course  I  lost  my  "  Kowe." 

My  "Mallet"  served  to  knock  me  down,  which  makes  me  thus  a 
talker ; 

And  once,  when  I  was  out  of  town,  my  "  Johnson  "  proved  a  "  Walker." 
While  studying,  o'er  the  fire,  one  day,  my  "  Hobbes,"  amidst  the  smoke, 
They  bore  my  "  Colman  "  clean  away,  and  carried  off  my  "  Coke. ' 

They  picked  my  "  Locke,"  to  me  far  more  than  Bramah's  patent  worth, 
And  now  my  losses  I  deplore,  without  a  ^'  Home  "  on  earth. 
If  once  a  book  you  let  them  lift,  another  they  conceal, 
For  though  I  caught  them  stealing  "Swift,"  as  swiftly  went  mi 
"Steele" 

*  Hope  "  IS  not  now  upon  my  shelf,  where  late  he  stood  elated , 
But  what  is  strange,  my  "  Pope  "  himself  is  excommunicated. 
v\fy  little  '* Suckling"  in  the  grave  is  sunk  to  swell  the  ravage; 
^.nd  what  was  Crusoe's  fate  to  save,  't  was  mme  to  lose,  —  a  "  Savageu ' 


THE  STANLiAKD  EIEAKEK. 


Even  *  Glover's  "  works  I  cannot  put  my  frozen  hanJs  upon ; 
Though  ever  since  I  lost  my  "  Foote,''  my  "  Bunyan  "  has  been  gone 
My  *'  Hoyle  "  with  "  Cotton  "  went  oppressed ;  my  "  Taylor,"  too 
must  fail ; 

To  save  my  "  Groldsmith  "  from  arrest,  in  vain  T  offered  "  Bayle, ' 

I  "  Prior  "  sought,  but  could  not  see  the  "  Hood  "  so  late  in  front ; 
A.nd  when  I  turned  to  hunt  for  "  Lee,"  0 !  where  was  my  "  Leigh 
Hunt "  ? 

L  tried  to  laugh,  old  care  to  tickle,  yet  could  not  "  Tickle  "  touch ; 
And  then,  alack !  I  missed  my  "  Mickle,"  —  and  surely  Mickle 's  mueli 

'T  is  quite  enough  my  griefs  to  feed,  my  sorrows  to  excuse, 

To  think  I  cannot  read  my  "  Reid,"  nor  even  use  my  "  Hughes;  " 

My  classics  would  not  quiet  lie,  a  thing  so  fondly  hoped ; 

Like  Dr.  Primrose,  I  may  cry,  my  "  Livy  "  has  eloped. 

My  life  is  ebbing  fast  away ;  I  suffer  from  these  shocks. 
And  though  I  fixed  a  lock  on  "  Gray,"  there's  gray  upon  my  locks, 
I 'm  far  from  "  Young,"  am  growing  pale,  I  see  my  "  Butler"  fly; 
And  when  they  ask  about  my  ail,  't  is  "  Burton  "  I  reply. 

They  still  have  made  me  slight  returns,  and  thus  my  griefs  divide ; 
For  0  !  they  cured  me  of  my  "  Burns,"  and  eased  my  "  Akenside." 
But  all  I  think  I  shall  not  say,  nor  let  my  anger  burn, 
For,  as  they  never  found  me  "  Gay,"  they  have  not  left  me  "  Sterne. 


3    THE  MAGPIE  AND  THE  MONKEY.  —  Friarie.    Born,  1760;  died,  1791. 

"  Dear  Madam,  I  pray,"  quoth  a  Magpie,  one  day, 

To  a  Monkey,  who  happened  to  come  in  her  way,  — 

"  If  you  '11  but  come  with  me 

To  my  snug  little  home  in  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 

I  '11  show  you  such  treasures  of  art  and  vertu, 

Such  articles,  old,  mediaeval,  and  new. 

As  a  lady  of  taste  and  discernment  like  you 

Will  be  equally  pleased  and  astonished  to  view ;  —  • 

In  an  oak-tree  hard  by  I  have  stowed  all  these  rarities ; 

And  if  you  '11  come  with  me,  I  '11  soon  you  show  where  it  is 

The  Monkey  agreed  at  once  to  proceed, 

And,  hopping  along  at  the  top  of  her  speed. 

To  keep  up  with  the  g^;iide,  who  flew  by  her  side, 

As  eager  to  show  as  the  other  to  see. 

Presently  came  to  the  old  oak-tree ; 

When,  from  a  hole  in  its  mighty  bole, 

In  which  she  had  cunningly  hidden  the  whole, 

One  by  one  the  Magpie  drew. 

And  displayed  her  hoard  to  the  Monkey's  view : 

A  buckle  of  brass,  some  bits  of  gkss, 

A  ribbon  dropped  by  a  gypsy  lass ; 


COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL.   —  YRIARTE. 


A.  tattered  handkerchief  edged  with  lace, 

The  haft  of  a  knife,  and  a  tooth-pick  lami 

An  inch  or  so  of  Cordelier's  rope, 

A  very  small  cake  of  Castilian  soap, 

And  a  medal  blessed  by  the  holy  Pope ; 

Half  a  cigar,  tiie  neck  of  a  jar, 

A  couple  of  pegs  from  a  cracked  guitar ; 

Beads,  buttons  and  rings,  and  other  odd  things, 

And  such  as  my  hearers  would  think  me  an  ass,  if  l' 

Tried  to  enumerate  fully  or  classify. 

At  la^t,  having  gone,  one  by  one,  through  the  whole, 
And  carefully  packed  them  again  in  the  hole, 
Alarmed  at  the  pause,  and  not  without  caws, 
The  Magpie  looked  anxiously  down  for  applause. 
The  monkey,  meanwhile,  with  a  shrug  and  a  smile. 
Having  silently  eyed  the  contents  of  the  pile, 
And  found  them,  in  fact,  one  and  all,  very  vile, 
Resolved  to  depart ;  and  was  making  a  start, 
When,  observing  the  movement  with  rage  and  dismay. 
The  Magpie  addressed  her,  and  pressed  her  to  stay : 
"  What,  sister,  I  pray,  have  you  nothing  to  say, 
In  return  for  the  sight  that  I 've  shown  you  to-day  ? 
Not  a  syllable  ?  —  hey  ?    I 'm  surprised  !  —  well  I  may, 
'  That  so  fine  a  collection,  with  nothing  to  pay. 
Should  be  treated  in  such  a  contemptuous  way. 
I  looked  for  applause,  as  a  matter  of  right. 
And  certainly  thought  that  you 'd  prove  more  polite  " 
At  length,  when  the  Magpie  had  ceased  to  revile, 
The  Monkey  replied,  with  a  cynical  smile  : 
"  Well,  Ma'am,  since  my  silence  offends  you,"  said  she, 
"  I  '11  frankly  confess  that  such  trifles  possess, 
Though  much  to  your  taste,  no  attraction  for  me; 
For  though,  like  yourself,  a  collector  of  pelf. 
Such  trash,  ere  I 'd  touch  it,  might  rot  on  a  shelf; 
And  I 'd  not,  by  Saint  Jago,  out  of  my  way  go 
A  moment  to  pick  up  so  vile  a  farrago. 
To  the  digging  of  roots,  and  the  prigj^ing  of  fruits, 
I  strictly  confine  my  industrial  pursuits ; 
And  whenever  I  happen  to  find  or  to  steal 
More  than  will  serve  for  a  moderate  meal,  — 
For  my  appetite 's  small,  and  I  don't  eat  a  deal,  - 
*  In  the  pouches  or  craws  which  hang  from  my  jaws 
And  which  I  contract  or  distend  at  my  pleasure, 
I  safely  deposit  the  rest  of  my  treasure. 
And  carry  it  home,  to  be  eaten  at  leisure. 
In  sho-t,  Ma'am  while  you  collect  rubbish  and  rags. 
A  mass  of  chiffhnerie  not  worth  possessing,  •  — 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKla*. 


1  gather  for  use,  and  replenish  my  bags 
With  things  that  are  really  a  comfort  and  blessing, 
A  reserve,  if  I  need  them,  for  future  subsistence, 
Adapted  to  lengthen  and  sweeten  existence." 

The  Monkey's  reply  —  for  I  must,  if  I 'm  able 
'  Elicit  some  practical  hint  from  the  fable  — 
Suited  the  MagDie,  and  suits  just  as  well  any 
Quarterly,  monthly,  or  weekly  miscellany, 
Whose  contents  exhibit  so  often  a  hash. 
Oddly  compounded,  of  all  kinds  of  trash, 
That  I  wonder,  whenever  I  chance  to  inspect  them, 
How  editors  have  the 'bad  taste  to  select  them. 


fHE  RICH  MAN  AND  THE  POOR.  —  Translated^  by  Dr.  Bowring,  from  the  Rt» 
Stan  of  Khemnitzer. 

So  goes  the  world ;  if  wealthy,  you  may  call 
This  friend,  that  brother,  friends  and  brothers  all ; 

Though  you  are  worthless,  witless,  never  mind  it ; 
Fou  may  have  been  a  stable-boy,  —  what  then  ? 
T  is  wealth,  good  Sir,  makes  honorable  men. 

You  seek  respect,  uq  doubt,  and  you  will  find  it. 
But  if  you  're  poor.  Heaven  help  you !  though  your  sire 

Had  royal  blood  within  him,  and  though  you 

Possessed  the  intellect  of  angels,  too, 
'T  is  all  in  vain  ;  —  the  world  will  ne'er  inquire 

On  such  a  score ;  —  why  should  it  take  the  pains  ? 

'T  is  easier  to  weigh  purses,  sure,  than  brains. 
I  once  saw  a  poor  fellow,  keen  and  clever, 

Witty  and  wise ;  —  he  paid  a  man  a  visit, 
And  no  one  noticed  him,  and  no  one  ever 

Gave  him  a  welcome.    "  Strange ! "  cried  I ;  "  when  rse  is  it? 
He  walked  on  this  side,  then  on  that, 
He  tried  to  introduce  a  social  chat ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  in  vain  he  tried ; 

Some  formally  and  freezingly  replied, 
And  some 

Said,  by  their  silence,  "  Better  stay  at  homa 
A  rich  man  burst  the  door, 
As  Cro3sus  rich,  I 'm  sure 
He  'sould  not  pride  himself  upon  his  wit ; 
And  as  for  wisdom,  he  had  none  of  it ; 
He  had  what 's  better,  —  he  had  wealth,  , 

What  a  confusion !  —  all  stand  up  erect ; 
These  crowd  around  to  ask  him  of  his  health 

These  bow  in  honest  duty  and  respect ; 
And  these  arrange  a  sofa  or  a  cha'r, 
And  these  conduct  Wm  there. 


COMIC  AND  SAIIRICAL.  PIERPONT, 

"  Allow  me,  Sir,  the  honor ! "  —  then  a  bow 
Down  to  the  earth.    Is 't  possible  to  show 
Meet  gratitude  for  such  kind  condescension? 

The  poor  man  hung  his  head^ 

And  to  himself  he  said, 
*'  This  is,  indeed,  beyond  my  comprehension  ! " 

Then  looking  round, 

One  friendly  face  he  found, 
And  said,  "  Pray  tell  me;  why  is  wealth  preferred 

To  wisdom  ? "  —  "  That 's  a  silly  q-.i€stion,  friend 
Replied  the  other ;  ' '  have  you  never  heard 

A  man  may  lend  his  store 

Of  gold  or  silver  ore, 
But  wisdom  none  can  borrow,  none  can  lend  i 


ft.   WHITTLING— A  YANKEE  VOUTRAIT.  — Rev.  J.  Pierpont. 

The  Yankee  boy,  before  he 's  sent  to  school, 

Well  knows  the  mysteries  of  that  magic  tool, 

The  pocket-knife.    To  that  his  wistful  eye 

Turns,  while  he  hears  his  mother's  lullaby ; 

His  hoarded  cents  he  gladly  gives  to  get  it, 

Then  leaves  no  stone  unturned  till  he  can  whet  it  i 

And  in  the  education  of  the  lad 

No  little  part  that  implement  hath  had. 

His  pocket-knife  to  the  young  whittler  brings 

A  growing  knowledge  of  material  things. 

Projectiles,  music,  and  the  sculptor's  art, 

His  chestnut  whistle  and  his  shingle  dart, 

His  elder  pop-gun  with  its  hickory  rod, 

Its  sharp  explosion  and  rebounding  wad, 

His  corn-stalk  fiddle,  and  the  deeper  tone 

That  murmurs  from  his  pumpkin-stalk  trombone, 

Conspire  to  teach  the  boy.    To  these  succeed 

His  bow,  his  arrow  of  a  feathered  reed. 

His  wind-mill,  raised  the  passing  breeze  to  win, 

His  water-wheel,  that  turns  upon  a  pin  ; 

Or,  if  his  father  lives  upon  the  shore, 

You  '11  see  his  ship,  "  beam  ends  upon  the  floor," 

Full  rigged,  with  raking  masts,  and  timbers  stamik 

And  waiting,  near  the  wash-tub,  for  a  launch. 

Thus,  by  his  genius  and  his  jack-knife  driven 
Ere  long  he  '11  solve  you  any  problem  given  j 
Make  any  jim-crack,  musical  or  mute, 
A  plough,  a  couch,  an  organ  or  a  flute ; 
Make  you  a  locomotive  or  a  clock. 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Cut  a  canal,  or  build  a  floating-dock, 

Or  lead  fortli  Beauty  from  a  marble  block ;  — 

Make  anything,  in  short,  for  sea  or  shore, 

From  a  child's  rattle  to  a  seventy-four  ;  — 

Make  it,  said  I  ?  —  Ay,  when  he  undertakes  it. 

He  '11  make  the  thing  and  the  machine  that  makee  ti 

And  when  the  thing  is  made,  —  whether  it  be 
To  move  on  earth,  in  air,  or  on  the  sea ; 
Whether  on  water,  o'er  the  waves  to  glide, 
Or,  upon  land  to  roll,  revolve,  or  slide ; 
Whether  to  whirl  or  jar,  to  strike  or  ring. 
Whether  it  be  a  piston  or  a  spring, 
Wheel,  pulley,  tube  sonorous,  wood  or  brass, 
The  thing  designed  shall  surely  come  to  pass; 
For,  VI  hen  his  hand 's  upon  it,  you  may  know 
That  there 's  go  in  it,  and  he  '11  make  it  go. 


6.    CITY  MEN  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  — OKver  Wendell  Holme* 

Come  back  to  your  mother,  ye  children,  for  shame, 
Who  have  wandered  like  truants  for  riches  or  fame ! 
With  a  smile  on  her  face  and  a  sprig  in  her  cap, 
She  calls  you  to  feast  from  her  bountiful  lap. 

Come  out  from  your  alleys,  your  courts,  and  your  Idika, 
And  breathe,  like  youn^  eagles,  the  air  of  our  plains ; 
Take  a  whiff  from  our  fields,  and  your  excellent  wiv«» 
Will  declare  it 's  all  nonsense  insuring  your  lives. 

Come  you  of  the  law,  who  can  talk,  if  you  please. 
Till  the  man  in  the  moon  will  allow  it 's  a  cheese, 
And  leave  "  the  old  lady  that  never  tells  lies  " 
To  sleep  with  her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes. 

Ye  healers  of  men,  for  a  moment  decline 

Your  feats  in  the  rhubarb  and  ipecac  line ; 

While  you  shut  up  your  turnpike,  your  neighbors  can  g|C 

The  old  roundabout  road  to  the  regions  below. 

You  clerk,  on  whose  ears  are  a  couple  of  pens. 
And  whose  head  is  an  ant-hill  of  units  and  tens, 
Though  Plato  denies  you,  we  welcome  you  still 
As  a  featherlesa  biped,  in  spite  of  your  quill. 

Poor  drudge  of  the  city  !  how  happy  he  feels 

With  the  burrs  on  his  legs  and  the  grass  at  his  heels, 

No  dodger  behind,  his  bandannas  to  share,  — 

No  constable  grumbling,  "  You  must  n't  walk  there ' " 


COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL. 


539 


In  yonder  green  meadow,  to  Memory  dear, 

He  slaps  a  mosquito  and  brushes  a  tear ; 

The  dew-drops  hang  round  hmi  on  blossoms  and  shoots,  — 

Ho  breathes  but  one  sigh  for  his  youth  and  his  boots. 

There  stands  the  old  school -house,  hard  by  the  old  churck; 
That  tree  at  its  side  had  the  flavor  of  birch : 
0,  sweet  were  the  days  of  his  juvenile  tricks, 
Though  the  prairie  of  youth  had  so  many  "  big  licks  !" 

By  the  side  of  yon  river  he  weeps  and  he  slumps, 
The  boots  fill  with  water,  as  if  they  were  pumps ; 
Till,  sated  with  rapture,  he  steals  to  his  bed. 
With  a  glow  in  his  heart  and  a  cold  in  his  head. 

^  is  past,  —  he  is  dreaming,  —  I  see  him  again ; 
The  ledger  retui-ns  as  by  legerdemain ; 
His  neckcloth  is  damp  with  an  easterly  flaw, 
And  he  holds  in  his  fingers  an  omnibus  straw. 

He  dreams  the  chill  gust  is  a  blossomy  gale. 
That  the  straw  is  a  rose  from  his  dear  native  vale , 
And  murmurs,  unconscious  of  space  and  of  time, 
"A.  1.  —  Extra  super.  —  Ah,  is  n't  it  prime  ! " 

0,  what  are  the  prizes  we  perish  to  win, 

To  the  first  little  "  shiner  "  we  caught  with  a  piw ! 

No  soil  upon  earth  is  as  dear  to  our  eyes 

As  the  soil  we  first  stirred  in  terrestrial  pies ! 

Then  come  from  all  parties,  and  parts,  to  our  feast ; 
Though  not  at  the  "  Astor,"  we'll  give  you,  at  least, 
A  bite  at  an  apple,  a  seat  on  the  grass, 
And  the  best  of  old  —  water  —  at  nothing  a  glass. 


7.  FUSS  AT  FIRES.  —  Anonymous. 

It  having  been  announced  to  me,  my  young  friends,  that  yon 
were  about  forming  a  fire-company,  I  have  called  you  loirethei 
to  give  you  such  directions  as  long  experience  in  a  first-qualitj 
engine  company  qualifies  me  to  communicate.  The  moment  yoL 
hear  an  alarm  of  fire,  scream  like  a  pair  of  panthers.  Run  any 
way,  except  the  right  way,  —  for  the  furthest  way  round  is  the  nearest 
way  to  the  fire.  If  you  happen  to  run  on  the  top  of  a  wood-pile,  so 
much  the  better  you  can  then  get  a  good  view  of  the  neighborhood. 
If  a  light  breaks  on  yom-  view,  "  break  "  for  it  immediately ;  but  be 
sure  you  don't  jump  into  a  bow  window.  Keep  yelling,  all  tho  time ; 
and,  if  you  can'^^  make  niglit  hideous  enough  yourself,  kick  all  the 
4ogs  you  come  across,  and  set  them  yelling,  too  ; 't  will  help  amazingly. 
A  brace  of  cats  dragged  up  sta-irs  by  the  tail  would  be  a  "  powerful 


540 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


auxiliary."  Wten  you  reach  the  scene  of  the  fire,  do  all  you  can  U 
convert  it  into  a  scene  of  destruction.  Tear  down  all  the  fences  Id 
the  vicinity.  If  it  be  a  chimney  on  fire,  throw  salt  down  it ;  or,  if 
you  can't  do  that,  perhaps  the  best  plan  would  be  to  jerk  ofi"  the 
pump-handle  and  pound  it  down.  Don't  forget  to  yell,  all  the  while, 
as  it  will,  have  a  prodigious  elFect  in  frightening  off  the  fire.  The 
louder  the  better  of  course ;  and  the  more  ladies  in  the  vicinity,  the 
greater  necessity  for  "  doing  it  brown."  Should  the  roof  begin  to 
smoke,  get  to  work  in  good  earnest,  and  make  any  man  "  smoke  "  that 
interrupts  you. '  If  it  is  summer,  and  there  are  fruit-trees  in  the  lot- 
cut  them  down,  to  prevent  the  fire  from  roasting  the  apples.  DonU 
forget  to  yell !  Should  the  stable  be  threatened,  carry  out  the  cow- 
chains.  Never  mind  the  horse,  — he  '11  be  alive  and  kicking ;  and  if 
his  legs  don't  do  their  duty,  let  them  pay  for  the  roast.  Ditto  as  to 
the  hogs ;  —  let  them  save  their  own  bacon,  or  smoke  for  it.  When 
the  roof  begins  to  burn,  get  a  crow-bar  and  pry  away  the  stone  steps' 
or,  if  the  steps  be  of  wood,  procure  an  axe  and  chop  them  up.  Next, 
cut  away  the  wash-boards  in  the  basement  story  ;  and,  if  that  don't 
stop  the  flames,  let  the  chair-boards  on  the  first  floor  share  a  similar 
fate.  Should  the  "  devouring  element  "  still  pursue  the  "  even  tenor 
of  its  way,"  you  had  better  ascend  to  the  second  story.  Pitch  out 
the  pitchers,  and  tumble  out  the  tumblers.     Yell  all  the  time  ! 

If  you  find  a  baby  abed,  fling  it  into  the  second  story  window  of 
the  house  across  the  way ;  but  let  the  kitten  carefully  down  in  a 
work-basket.  Then  draw  out  the  bureau  drawers,  and  empty  their 
contents  out  of  the  back  window ;  telling  somebody  below  to  upset 
tjhe  slop-barrel  and  rain-water  hogshead  at  the  same  time.  Of  course, 
you  will  attend  to  the  mirror.  The  further  it  can  be  thrown,  the 
more  pieces  will  be  made.  If  anybody  objects,  smash  it  over  his 
head.  Do  not,  under  any  circumstances,  drop  the  tongs  down  from 
the  second  story :  the  fall  might  break  its  legs,  and  render  the  poor 
thing  a  cripple  for  life.  Set  it  straddle  of  your  shoulders,  and  carry 
it  down  carefully.  Pile  the  bed-clothes  carefully  on  ■  the  floor,  and 
throw  the  crockery  out  of  the  window.  By  the  time  you  will  have 
a'+oTided  to  all  these  things,  the  fire  will  certainly  be  arrested,  or  the 
buiiamg  be  burnt  down.  In  either  case, ,  your  services  will  be  nc 
IcDgcr  needed;  and,  of  course,  you  require  no  further  directions 


8-  ONE  STORY  'S  GOOD  TILL  ANOTHER  IS  TOLD.  —  Charle.s  Swain 

There 's  a  maxim  that  all  should  be  willing  to  mind  ; 

'T  is  an  old  one,  a  kind  one,  and  true  as 't  is  kind ; 

'T  is  worthy  of  notice  wherever  you  roam, 

And  no  worse  for  the  heart,  if  remembered  at  home ! 

If  scandal  or  censure  be  raised  'gainst  a  friend; 

Be  the  last  to  believe  it  —  the  first  to  defend  ' 

Say,  to-morrow  will  come  —  and  then  time  will  unfold 

That  "  one  story    good  till  another  is  told  !  " 


COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL. 


A  friend 's  like  a  ship,  when,  with  music  and  song. 
The  tide  of  ^ood  fortune  still  speeds  him  along ; 
But  see  him  when  tempest  hath  left  him  a  wreck, 
And  an;^-  i^nean  billow  can  batter  his  deck  ! 
Then  give  me  the  heart  that  true  sympathy  shows, 
And  clings  to  a  messmate,  whatever  wind  blowf^  * 
And  says,  —  when  aspersion,  unanswered,  grows  coldj 
\^ait ;  —  "  one  story 's  good  till  another  is  told !  " 


9.   THE  GREAT  MUSICAL  CRITIC.  —  Original  translation. 

Once  on  a  time,  the  Nightingale,  whose  singing 

Had  with  her  praises  set  the  forest  ringing, 

Consented  at  a  concert  to  appear. 

Of  course,  her  friends  all  flocked  to  hear, 

And  with  them  many  a  critic,  wide  awake 

To  pick  a  flaw,  or  carp  at  a  mistake ! 

She  sang  as  only  nightingales  can  sing; 

And  when  she 'd  ended, 
There  was  a  general  cry  of  "  Bravo !  splendid ' 

While  she,  poor  thing, 
Abashed  and  fluttering,  to  her  nest  retreated, 
Quite  terrified  to  be  so  warmly  greeted. 
The  Turkeys  gobbled  their  delight ;  the  Geese, 

Who  had  been  known  to  hiss  at  many  a  trial, 

Gave  this  one  no  denial : 
It  seemed  as  if  the  applause  would  never  cease. 

But,  'mong  the  critics  on  the  ground, 

An  Ass  was  present,  pompous  and  profound, 

Who  said,  "  My  friends,  I  '11  not  dispute  the  honor, 

That  you  would  do  our  littli  prima  donna. 

Although  her  upper  notes  are  very  shrill, 

And  she  defies  all  method  in  her  tril'l. 

She  has  some  talent,  and,  upon  the  whole, 

With  study,  may  some  cleverness  attain. 

Then,  her  friends  tell  me,  she 's  a  virtuous  soul ; 

But  —  but  —  " 

"  But,"  growled  the  Lion,  "  by  my  mane, 

I  never  knew  an  Ass  who  did  not  strain 

To  qualify  a  good  thing  with  a  but !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Goose,  approa,ching,  with  a  stn''^, 

"Don't  interrupt  him,  siji-e;  pray  let  it  pass, 

The  Ass  is  honest,  if  he  is  an  Ass !  " 

"  1  was  about,"  said  Long  Ear,  "  to  remark, 
That  there  is  something  lacking  in  her  whistle  j  - 

Something  magnetic,  — 

To  waken  chords  and  feelings  sympatbetb 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


And  kindle  in  the  breast  a  spark 

Like  —  like,  for  instance,  a  good  juicy  thistle." 

The  assembly  tittered,  but  the  Fox,  with  gravity, 

Said,  at  the  Lion  winking, 
"  Our  learned  friend,  with  his  accustomed  suavity, 

'  Has  given  his  opinion,  without  shrinkiniy  • 
But,  to  do  justice  to  the  Nightingale, 

He  should  inform  us,  as  no  doubt  he  will; 
What  sort  of  music 't  is  that  does  not  fail 

His  sensibilities  to  rouse  and  thrill." 

"  Why,"  said  the  critic,  with  a  look  potential, 
And  pricking  up  his  ears,  delighted  much 

At  Reynard's  tone  and  manner  deferential,  — 
"  Why,  Sir,  there 's  nothing  can  so  deeply  toach 

My  feelings,  and  so  carry  me  away. 

As  a  fine,  mellow,  ear-inspiring  bray." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Fox,  without  a  pause  ; 

"  As  far  as  you  're  concerned,  your  judgment 's  tra© .  - 
You  do  not  like  the  Nightingale,  because 

The  Nightingale  is  not  an  Ass  like  you ! " 


10.  DRAMATIC  STYLES.  —  Blackwood's  Mag. 

In  dramatic  writing,  the  difference  between  the  Grecian  and  lloman 
styles  is  very  great.  When  you  deal  with  a  Greek  subject,  you  must 
be  very  devout,  and  have  unbounded  reverence  for  Diana  of  the  Ephe- 
Bians.  You  must  also  believe  in  the  second  sight,  and  be  as  solemn, 
calm,  and  passionless,  as  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father.  Never  descend 
to  the  slightest  familiarity,  nor  lay  off  the  stilts  for  a  moment ;  and,  far 
from  calling  a  spade  a  spade,  call  it 

That  sharp  instrument 

With  which  the  Thoban  husbandman  lays  bare 
The  breast  of  our  great  mother. 

,  The  Eoman,  on  the  other  hand,  may  occasionally  be  jocular,  Imt 
always  warlike.  One  is  like  a  miracle-play  in  church ;  —  she  other, 
a,  tableau  vivant  in  a  camp.  If  a  Gr€ck  has  occasion  to  ask  his  sweets 
beart  "  if  her  mother  knows  she 's  out,"  and  "  if  she  has  sold  her  mangk 
yet,"  he  says : 

MenestheuLs.  Cleanthe  ! 
Cleanthe.  My  Loi'd  ! 

Men.  Your  mother,  —  your  kind,  excellent  mother. 
She  who  hung  o'er  your  couch  in  infancy, 
And  felt  wiihin  her  heart  the  joyous  pride 
Of  having  such  a  daughter,  —  does  sne  know, 
Sweetest  Cleanthe  !  that  you 've  left  the  shade 
Of  the  maternal  walls  1 

Cle.  She  does,  my  Lord. 

Mm.  And,  —  but  I  scarce  can  ask  the  q  aestion,  —  when 
I  last  beheld  her  'gainst  the  whitened  wall 


COMIC  AND  SATIRICAL   HORACE  SMITH. 


Stood  a  strong  engine,  flat,  and  broad,  and  heavy; 

Its  entrail  stones,  and  moved  on  mighty  rollers, 

Rendering  the  crisped  web  as  smooth  and  soft 

As  whitest  snow.  —  That  engine,  sweet  Gleautae, 

Fit  pedestal  for  household  deity, 

Lares  and  old  Penates  ;  —  has  she 't  still  1 

Or  for  gold  bribes  has  she  disposed  of  it  1 

I  fain  would  know;  —  pray  tell  me,  is  it  sold 

The  Roman  goes  quicker  to  work : 

Tell  me,  my  Julia,  does  your  mother  know 
You  're  out '?  and  has  she  sold  her  mangle  yet ! 

The  Composite,  or  Elizabethan,  has  a  smack  of  both : 

Conradm.  Ha  !  Celia  here  ?    Come  hither,  pretty  oi»> 
Thou  hast  a  mother,  child  ] 
Celia.  Most  people  have,  Sir. 

Con.  I'  faith  thou  'rt  sharp,  —  thou  hast  a  biting  wit; 
But  does  this  mother,  —  this  epitome 
Of  what  all  other  people  are  possessed  of,  — 
Knows  she  thou  'rt  out,  and  gadding  1 

Cel.  No,  not  gadding  ! 
Out,  sir;  she  knows  I 'm  out. 

Co?i..  She  had  a  mangle; 
Faith,  't  was  a  huge  machine,  and  smoothed  the  web 
Like  snow.    I 've  seen  it  oft ;  —  it  was,  indeed, 
A  right  good  mangle. 

Cel.  Then  thou  'rt  not  in  thought 
To  buy  it,  else  thou  would  not  praise  it  so. 

Con.  A  parlous  child  !  keen  as  the  cold  North  wincL^ 
fet  light  as  Zephyrs.    No,  no;  I 'd  not  buy  it; 
But  has  she  sold  it,  child  1 


THE  GOUTY  MERCHANT  AND  THE  STRANGER.  —  Horace  Sviitk. 

In  Broad-street  buildings  (on  a  winter  night), 
Snug  by  his  parlor  fire,  a  gouty  wight 

Sat,  all  alone,  with  one  hand  rubbing 
His  feet,  rolled  up  in  fleecy  hose ; 
With  t'  other  he 'd  beneath  his  nose 

The  Public  Ledger,  in  whose  columns  grubbing, 
He  noted  all  the  sales  of  hops, 
Ships,  shops,  and  slops. 
Gums,  galls,  and  groceries,  ginger,  gin, 
Tar,  tallow,  tumeric,  turpentine,  and  tin ; 
When,  lo !  a  decent  personage  in  black 

Entered,  and  most  politely  said,  — 
"  Your  footman.  Sir,  has  gone  his  nightiv  track 

To  the  King's  Head, 

And  left  your  door  ajar,  which  I 
Observed  in  passing  by ; 
And  thought  it  neighborly  to  give  you  notici)  " 

"  Ten  thousand  thanks  !  "  the  gouty  man  replied 

"  You  see,  good  Sir,  how  to  my  chair  1  'm  tied 

Ten  thousand  thanks !  —  how  very  few  get, 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER, 


In  time  of  danger, 

Such  kind  attentions  from  a  stranger* 
Assuredly  that  footman's  throat  is 

Doomed  to  a  final  drop  at  Newgate; 
And  he  well  knows  (the  heedless  elf!) 
That  there 's  no  soul  at  home,  except  myself.' 

"  Indeed  !  "  replied  the  stranger,  looking  gea^ 

"  Then  he 's  a  double  knave  : 
He  knows  that  rogues  and  thieves,  by  scores, 
Nightly  beset  unguarded  doors ; 
And  see,  how  easily  might  one 
Of  these  domestic  foes, 
Even  beneath  your  very  nose, 

Perform  his  knavish  tricks  : 
Enter  your  room,  as  I  have  done ; 
Blow  out  your  candles,  —  thus,  and  thus,  — 

Pocket  your  silver  candlesticks. 
And  walk  off,  —  thus !  " 
So  said,  so  done ;  —  he  made  no  more  remark, 

Nor  waited  for  replies. 

But  marched  off  with  his  prize, 
Leaving  the  gouty  merchant  in  the  dark ! 


THE  VICTIM  OF  Vi¥.FOB.M.  —  Blackwood's  Mag  azine.  Adapted 

A  MONKEY,  once,  whom  fate  had  led  to  list 
To  all  the  rancorous  spouting  and  contention 
Of  a  convention 
For  every  one's  emancipation 
From  every  thing  and  body  in  creation, 
Determine(iL  in  the  good  work  to  assist. 
So,  with  some  curious  notions  in  his  noddle, 
And  conning  portions  of  the  precious  twaddle 
Which,  in  the  form  of  resolutions. 
Had  struck  at  all  existing  institutions, 
He  strode  forth  with  a  step  that  seemed  designeci 
To  represent  the  mighty  march  of  mind. 
Not  far  he 'd  wandered,  when  his  indignation 
Was  roused  to  see 
A  great  menagerie, 
Where  birds  and  beasts  of  every  race  and  station 
All  free-born  animals,  were  kept  confined, 
Caged  and  locked  up  in  durance  vile! 
It  was  a  sight  to  waken  all  his  bile. 

The  window  of  the  building  stood  ajar ; 
It  was  not  far. 

Nor,  like  Parnassus,  very  hard  to  climb 
The  hour  was  verging  on  the  supper  tima 


COMIC  AND  SATIETCAL. 


645 


And  many  a  growl  was  sent  through  many  a  bar 

Meanwhile,  Pug  scrambled  upward,  like  a  tar, 

And  soon  crept  in, 

Unnoticed  in  the  hunger-telling  din. 

Full  of  his  new  emancipating  zeal, 

Zounds  !  how  it  made  him  chafe,  — 
To  look  around  upon  this  brute  Bastille, 

And  see  the  King  of  creatures  in  —  a  safe ! 
Fhe  desert's  denizen  in  one  small  den. 

Enduring  all  oppression's  bitterest  ills 
A  bear  in  bars  unbearable ;  and  then, 

The  fretful  porcupine,  with  all  its  quills, 
Imprisoned  in  a  pen  ! 
A  tiger  limited  to  four  feet  ten ; 
And,  stiL  worse  lot,  a  leopard  to  one  spot 

Pug  went  above,  a  solitary  mounter,  — 
Up  gloomy  stairs,  and  saw  a  pensive  group 

Of  hapless  fowls,  cranes,  vultures,  owls,  — 

In  fact,  it  was  a  sort  of  poultry-counter. 

Where  feathered  prisoners  were  doomed  to  droop  J 
Here  sat  an  eagle,  forced  to  make  a  stoop, 

Not  from  the  skies,  but  his  impending  roof ; 

And  there,  aloof, 

A  pining  ostrich,  moping  in  a  coop , 

With  other  samples  of  the  bird  creation 
All  caged  against  their  wills. 
And  cramped  in  such  a  space,  the  losgest  bills 

Were  plainly  bills  of  least  accommodation ;  — 

In  truth,  it  was  a  scene  more  foi^  than  fair. 

His  temper  little  mended. 

Pug  from  his  bird-cage  walk  at  last  descended 

Unto  the  lion  and  the  elephant, 

His  bosom  in  a  pant 

To  see  all  Nature's  free  list  thus  suspended, 
And  beasts  deprived  of  what  she  had  intended. 
They  could  not  even  prey  in  their  own  way,  — 

A  hardship  always  reckoned  quite  prodigious. 
Thus  he  revolved,  and  finally  resolved 

To  give  them  freedom,  civil  and  religious , 
And  first,  with  stealthy  paw.  Pug  hastened  to  withdraw 
The  bolt  that  kept  the  King  of  brutes  within. 
"  Now,  Monarch  of  the  forest,  thou  shalt  win 
Precious  enfranchisement,  —  thy  bolts  are  undone 

Thou  art  no  longer  a  degraded  creature, 

But  loose  to  roam  with  liberty  and  nature ; 
Pi^e  to  search  all  the  jungles  about  London." 
35 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Alas  for  Freedom,  and  for  Freedom's  hom ! 

Alas  for  liberty  of  life  and  limb ! 
For  Pug  had  only  half  unbolted  Nero, 

When  Nero  bolted  him  ! 


,18.    TIS  NOT  FINE  FEATHERS  THAT  MAKE  FINE  BlSm 

A  Peacock  came,  with  his  plumage  gay. 
Strutting  in  regal  pride,  one  day, 
Where  a  little  bird  hung  in  a  gilded  cage, 
Whose  song  might  a  seraph's  ear  engage. 
The  bird  sang  on,  while  the  peacock  stood, 
Vaunting  his  plumes  to  the  neighborhood; 
And  the  radiant  sun  seemed  not  more  bright 
Than  the  bird  that  basked  in  his  golden  light; 
But  the  little  bird  sang,  in  his  own  sweet  words, 
"  'T  is  not  fine  feathers  that  make  fine  birds !  " 
The  peacock  strutted  ;  —  a  bird  so  fair 
Never  before  had  ventured  there. 
While  the  small  bird  hung  at  the  cottage  door  — 
And  what  could  a  peacock  wish  for  more  ? 
Alas !  the  bird  of  the  rainbow  wing, 
He  was  n't  contented,  —  he  tried  to  sing  ! 
And  they  who  gazed  on  his  beauty  bright, 
Scared  by  his  screaming,  soon  took  to  flight ; 
While  the  little  bird  sang,  in  his  own  sweet  words. 
"  'T  is  not  fine  feathers  that  make  fine  birds !  " 

Then,  prithee,  take  warning,  maidens  fair, 
•    And  still  of  the  peacock's  fate  beware ; 
Beauty  and  wealth  won't  win  your  way, 
Though  they  're  attired  in  plumage  gay ; 
Something  tx)  charm  you  all  must  know. 
Apart  from  fine  feathers  and  outward  show ;  — 
A  talent,  a  grace,  a  gift  of  mind, 
Or  else  small  beauty  is  left  behind ! 
While  the  little  birds  sing,  in  iheir  own  true  wordfl. 
» 'T  is  not  fine  feathers  that  make  fine  birds !  " 


THE  CULPRIT  AND  THE  JT^DGE.  —Horace  «?m«* 

A  Gascon,  who  had  long  pursued 

The  trade  of  clipping 
And  filing  the  similitude 

Of  good  King  Pepin, 
Was  caught  by  the  police,  who  found  \im 

With  file  and  scissors  in  his  hand, 

And  ounces  of  Pactolian  sand 
Lying  around  him. 


COMIC  ANL  SATIRICAL.  —  HORACE  SMITH. 


The  case  admitting  no  denial, 
They  hurried  him  forthwith  to  trial ; 
When  the  Judge  made  a  long  oration 
About  the  crime  of  profanation, 
And  gave  no  respite  for  repentance, 
But  instantly  pronounced  his  sentence  — 

"  Decapitation !  "  -  - 
"  As  to  offending  powers  divine," 

The  culprit  cried,  "  be  nothing  said ; 
Yours  is  a  deeper  guilt  than  mine. 

I  took  a  portion  from  the  head 
Of  the  King's  image  ;  you,  0  fearful  odds ' 
Strike  the  whole  head  at  once  from  God's !  " 


15.  THE  JESTER  CONDEMNED  TO  DEATH.  -  Horace  Smith. 

One  of  the  Kings  of  Scanderoon,  a  royal  jester,  had  in  his  train  a 
gross  buffoon,  who  used  to  pester  the  court  with  tricks  inopportune, 
venting  on  the  highest  folks  his  scurvy  pleasantries  and  hoaxes.  It 
needs  some  sense  to  play  the  fool ;  which  wholesome  rule  occurred  not 
to  our  jackanapes,  who  consequently  found  his  freaks  lead  to  innumer- 
able scrapes,  and  quite  as  many  kicks  and  tweaks ;  v/hich  only  made 
him  faster  try  tiie  patience  of  his  master. 

Some  sin,  at  last,  beyond  all  measure,  incurred  the  desperate  dis- 
pleasure  of  his  serene  and  raging  Highness.  Whether  the  wag  had 
twitched  his  beard,  which  he  was  bound  to  have  revered,  or  had 
intruded  on  the  shyness  of  the  seraglio,  or  let  fly  an  epigram,  at 
royalty,  none  knows  —  his  sin  was  an  occult  one  ;  but  records  tell  us 
that  the  Sultan,  meaning  to  terrify  the  knave,  exclaimed,  "'T  is 
sime  to  stop  that  breath  !  Thy  doom  is  sealed,  presumptuous  slave  ! 
Thou^  stand'st  condemned  to  certain  death  !  Silence,  base  rebel !  no 
replying.  But  such  is  my  indulgence  still,  that,  of  my  own  free 
grace  and  will,  I  leave  to  thee  the  mode  of  dying."  "  Your  royal 
will  be  done;  'tis  just,"  replied  the  wretch,  and"  kissed  the  dust; 
"  since,  my  last  moments  to  assuage,  your  majesty's  humane  decree 
has  deigned  to  leave  the  choice'  to  me,  I  '11  die^  so  please  you.  of  old 
a  ge !  " 


16.  THE  POET  AND  THE  AluGILEm^.  —  Horace  Smith. 

Before  this  present  golden  age  of  writers,  a  Grub-street  Garreteer 
existed,  one  of  the  regular  inditers  of  odes  and  poems  to  be  twisted 
mto  encomiastic  verses,  for  patrons  who  have  heavy  purses.  Besides 
the  bellman's  rhymes,  he  had  others  to  let,  both  gay  and  sad,  all  tick- 
eted from  A  to  Izzard ;  and,  living  by  his  wits,  I  need  not  add,  the 
rogue  was  lean  as  any  lizard.  Like  a  rope-maker's  were  his  ways ; 
tor  still  one  Une  upon  another  he  spun,  and,  like  his  hempen  brother, 
kept  going  backwards  all  his  days.  Hard  by  his  attic  lived  a  chemist, 
pr  alchemist,  who  had  a  mighty  faith  in  the  Elixir  Vitaj ;  and,  though 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


anflattered  by  +he  dimmest  glimpses  of  success,  kept  gropijig  ani5 
grubbing  in  hin  dark  vocation ;  stupidly  hoping  to  find  the  art  of 
changing  metals,  and  guineas  coin  from  pots  and  kettles,  by  mystery 
'){  transmutation. 

Our  starving  poet  took  occasion  to  seek  this  conjuror's  abode  ;  not 
with  encomiastic  ode,  or  laudatory  dedication,  but  with  an  offer  to 
impart.^  for  twenty  pounds,  the  secret  art,  which  should  procure,  with* 
out  the  pain  of  metals,  chemistry  and  fire,  what  he  so  long  had  sought 
in  vain,  and  gratify  his  heart's  desire.  The  money  paid,  our  bard 
was  hurried  to  the  philosopher's  sanctorum  :  who,  somewhat  sublimized, 
and  flurried  out  of  his  chemical  decorum,  crowed,  capered,  giggled, 
seemed  to  spurn  his  crucibles,  retort  and  furnace,  and  cried,  as  he 
secured  the  door,  and  carefully  put  to  the  shutter  :  "  Now,  now,  the 
secret,  I  implore  !  For  Heaven's  sake,  speak,  discover,  utter !  "  With 
grave  and  solemn  air,  the  Poet  cried  :  "  List !  0,  list !  for  thus  1 
show  it :  —  Let  this  plain  truth  those  ingrates  strike,  who  still,  though 
blessed,  new  blessings  crave :  that  we  may  all  have  what  we  like,  sim- 
jiy  by  liki?ig  what  we  have  !  " 


17.  BLINBMAN'S  BTI¥¥.  —  Horace  Smith. 

Three  wags  (whom  some  fastidious  carpers  might  rather  designate 
three  sharpers)  entered,  at  York,  the  Cat  and  Fiddle ;  and,  finding 
that  the  host  was  out  on  business  for  two  hours  or  more,  while  Sam, 
the  rustic  waiter,  wore  the  visage  of  a  simple  lout,  whom  they  might 
safely  try  to  diddle,  —  they  ordered  dinner  in  a  canter,  —  cold  or  hot. 
it  mattered  not,  provided  it  was  served  imtanter  ;  and,  as  the  heat 
had  made  them  very  dry  and  dusty  in  their  throttles,  they  bade  the 
waiter  bring  three  bottles  of  prime  old  Port,  and  one  of  Sherry. 
Sam  ran  with  ardor  to  the  larder,  then  to  the  kitchen ;  and,  as  he 
briskly  went  to  work,  he  drew  from  the  spit  a  roasted  turkey,  with 
sausages  embellished,  which  in  a  trice  upon  the  board  was  spread, 
together  with  a  nice,  cold  brisket ;  nor  did  he  even  obliviscate  half  a 
pig's  head.  To  these  succeeded  puddings,  pies,  custards  and  jellies, 
all  doomed  to  fall  a  sacrifice  to  their  insatiable  bellies  ;  as  if,  like  cam- 
els, they  intended  to  stuff  into  their  monstrous  craws  enough  to  satisfy 
their  maws,  until  their  pilgrimage  was  ended.  Talking,  laughing, 
eating  and  quaffing,  the  bottles  stood  no  moment  still.  They  rallied 
Sam  with  joke  and  banter,  and,  as  they  drained  the  last  decanter, 
called  for  the  bill. 

'T  was  brought,  —  when  one  of  them,  who  eyed  and  added  up  the 
items,  cried,  —  "  Extremely  moderate,  indeed !  I  '11  make  a  point  to 
recommend  this  inn  to  every  travelling  friend  ;  and  you,  Sam,  shall 
be  doubly  foe'd."  This  said,  a  weighty  purse  he  drew,  when  his  com- 
panion interposed  :  —  "  Nay,  Harry,  that  will  never  do ;  pray  lei. 
your  purse  again  be  closed ;  you  paid  all  charges  yesterday ;  't  is 
clearly  now  my  turn  to  pay."'  Harry,  however,  would  n't  listen  t<i 
iMiy  such  insulting  offer ;  his  generous  eyes  appeared  to  glisten,  India: 


COMIC  A^JD  SATIRICAL.  HORACE  SMITH. 


tant  at  tlie  rerj  proffer ;  and,  though  his  friend  talked  loud,  hig 
clangor  served  but  to  aggravate  Hal's  anger.  "  My  worthy  fellow,*' 
cried  the  third,  "  now,  really,  this  too  absurd.  What !  do  both  of 
you  forget.  I  have  n't  paid  a  fanning,  yet  ?  Am  I  eternally  to  cram, 
fl,t  your  expense  ?  'T  is  childish,  quite.  I  claim  this  payment  as  mj 
right.    Here,  how  much  is  the  money,  Sam  ?  " 

To  this  most  rational  proposal,  the  others  gave  such  fierce  necration 
one  might  have  fancied  they  were  foes,  all ;  so  hot  became  the  alterca^ 
tion,  each  in  his  purse  his  money  rattling,  insisting,  arguing  and  bat- 
tling.  One  of  them  cried,  at  last :  —  "  A  truce!  This°  point  we 
will  no  longer  moot.  Wrangling  for  trifles  is  no  use  ;  and,  thus  we  '11 
finish  the  dispute  :  ~  That  we  may  settle  what  we  three  owe,  we  'II 
blindfold  Sam,  and  whichsoe'er  ho  catches  of  us  first  shall  bear  all  the 
expenses  of  the  trio,  with  half  a  crown  (if  that 's  enough)  to  Sara 
for  playing  blindraan's  buff."  Sam  liked  it  hugely,  --  thought  the 
ransom  for  a  good  game  of  fun  was  handsome  ;  gave  his  own  handker- 
chief  beside,  to  have  his  eyes  securely  tied,  and  soon  began  to  o-rope 
and  search  ;  when  the  three  knaves,  I  need  n't  say,  adroitly  left'^him 
m  iht  .urch,  slipped  down  the  stairs  and  stole  away.  Poor  Sam  con- 
tinued hard  at  work.  Now  o'er  a  chair  he  gets  a  fall ;  now  flounder- 
mg  forwards  with  a  jerk,  he  bobs  his  nose  against  the  wall ;  and  now 
encouraged  by  a  subtle  fancy  that  they  're  near  the  door,  he  jumps 
behind  it  to  explore,  and  breaks  his  shins  against  the  scuttle ;  crying 
at  each  disaster  —  "  Drat  it!  Hang  it !  'od  rabbit  it !  "  and  "  Rat  it ! 
Just  m  the  crisis  of  his  doom,  the  host,  returnina;,  sought  the  room  ; 
and  Sam  no  sooner  heard  his  tread,  than,  pouncing  on  him  like  a 
brum,  he  almost  shook  him  into  ruin,  and,  with  a  shout  of  laughter, 
said  Huzza!  I 've  caught  you  now;  so  down  with  cash  fJr  all, 
and  my  half  crown  !  "  Off  went  the  bandage,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
to  be  goggling  o'er  his  forehead,  while  his  mouth  widened  with  a  horrid 
look  of  agomzed  surprise.  "  Gull !  "  roared  his  master ;  "  Gudgeon  ' 
Junce  !  fool,  as  you  are,  you  're  right  for  once  ;  't  is  clear  that  I  must 
pay  the  sum;  but  this  one  thought  my  wrath  assuages  —  that  every 
half-penny  shall  come  out  of  your  wages !  " 


18.  THE  FARMER  AND  THE  COUNSELLOR. -Horace  5me7A. 

A  COUNSEL  in  the  Common  Pleas,  who  was  esteemed  a  mighty  wit 
<apon  the  strength  of  a  chance  hit,  amid  a  thousand  flippancies,  and  hig 
occasional  bad  jokes,  in  bullying,  bantering,  browbeating,  ridiculing 
and  maltreating  women,  or  other  timid  folks,  — in  a  late  cause! 
resolved  to  hoax  a  clownish  Yorkshire  farmer,  —  one,  who,  by  his 
uncouth  look  and  gait,  appeared  expressly  meant  by  Fate  for  beina 
quizzed  and  played  upon.  So,  having  tipped  the  wink  to  those  in  the 
Kck  rows,  who  kept  their  laughter  bottled  down  until  our  wa^^  should 
^t'J'i^H.''''''^'^?  ^"^'^^^  jocosely  on  the  clown,  and  went  to  work 
^  Well,  J^armer  NumscuU,  how  go  calves  at  York  ?  "  "  Why  —  not 
•>ir  SB  they  da  wi'  you ;  but  on  four  legs,  instead  of  two  "  '  Officer ' 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


triad  the  legal  elf,  piqued  at  the  laugh  against  himself, '  do  pray  keef 
silence  down  below,  there.  Now,  look  at  me,  clown,  and  attend ;  have 
I  not  seen  jou  somewhere,  friend  ?  "  "  Yes,  very  like  ;  I  often  gc 
there/'  "Our  rustic  's  waggish  —  quite  laconic!"  the  counsel 
sried,  with  grin  sardonic ;  "  I  wish  I 'd  known  this  prodigy,  thit 
genius  of  the  clods,  when  I  on  circuit  was  ai  York  residing.  Now. 
I^armer,  do  for  once  speak  true ;  mind,  you  're  on  oath,  so  tell  me, 
you  who  doubtless  think  yourself  so  clever,  are  there  as  many  fools  aa 
ever  in  the  West  Riding  ?  "  "  Why,  no  Sir,  no  ;  we 've  got  our 
share,  —  but  not  so  many  as  when  you  were  there." 


19.  MR.  PUFF'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIMSELF. —Sfecntfan 

Sir,  I  make  no  secret  of  the  trade  I  follow.  Among  friends  and 
Drother  authors,  I  love  to  be  frank  on  the  subject,  and  to  advertise 
myself  viva  voce.  I  am.  Sir,  a  practitioner  in  panegyric  ;  or,  to  speak 
more  plainly,  a  professor  of  the  art  of  pufl&ng,  at  your  service  —  or 
anybody  else's.  I  dare  say,  now,  you  conceive  half  the  very  civil 
paragraphs  and  advertisements  you  see  to  be  written  by  the  parties 
concerned,  or  their  friends.  No  such  thing ;  nine  out  of  ten  manu- 
factured by  me,  in  the  way  of  business.  You  must  know.  Sir,  that, 
from  the  first  time  I  tried  my  hand  at  an  advertisement,  my  success 
was  such,  that  for  some  time  after  I  led  a  most  extraordinary  life, 
indeed.  Sir,  I  supported  myself  two  years  entirely  by  my  misfor- 
tunes ;  by  advertisements  To  the  charitable  and  humane  !  and,  To 
those  whom  Providence  has  blessed  with  affluence  !  And,  in  truth, 
I  deserved  what  I  got ;  for  I  suppose  never  man  went  through  such  a 
series  of  calamities  in  the  same  space  of  time.  Sir,  I  was  five  times 
made  a  bankrupt,  and  reduced  from  a  state  of  affluence,  by  a  train  of 
unavoidable  misfortunes ;  then.  Sir,  though  a  very  industrious  trades- 
man, I  was  twice  burned  out,  and  lost  my  little  all  both  times.  I 
lived  upon  those  fires  a  month.  I  soon  after  was  confined  by  a  most 
excruciating  disorder,  and  lost  the  use  of  my  limbs.  That  told  very 
well  ;  for  I  had  the  case  strongly  attested,  and  went  about  to  collect 
the  subscriptions  myself.  I  wa<i  afterwards  twice  tapped  for  a  dropsy, 
which  declined  into  a  very  profitable  consumption.  I  was  then 
reduced  to  —  0,  no  !  —  then  I  became  a  widow,  with  six  helpless  chil- 
dren. All  this  I  bore  with  patience,  though  I  made  some  occasional 
asttempts  at  felo  de  se  ;  but,  as  I  did  not  find  those  rash  actions  answer, 
I  left  off  killing  myself  very  soon.  Well,  Sir,  at  last,  what  with 
bankruptcies,  fires,  gouts,  dropsies,  imprisonments,  and  other  valuable 
calamities,  having  got  together  a  pretty  handsome  sum,  I  determined 
to  quit  a  business  which  had  always  gone  rather  against  my  conscience, 
and  in  a  more  liberal  way  still  to  indulge  my  talents  for  fiction  and 
embellishments,  through  my  favorite  channel  of  diurnal  communiea 
»ion  ;  —  and  so,  Sir,  vou  have  my  history. 


PART  TENTH. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


1   ADDRESS  OF  BLACK  HAWK  TO  GENERAL  STREET. 

You  have  taken  me  prisoner,  with  all  my  warriors.  I  am  much 
grieved ;  for  I  expected,  if  I  did  not  defeat  you,  to  hold  out  much 
longer,  and  give  you  more  trouble,  before  I  surrendered.  I  tried 
hard  to  bring  you  into  ambush,  but  your  last  General  understood 
Indian  fighting.  I  determined  to  rush  on  you,  and  fight  you  face  to 
face.  I  fought  hard.  But  your  guns  were  well  aimed.  The  bullets 
flew  like  birds  in  the  air,  and  whizzed  by  our  ears  like  the  wind 
through  the  trees  in  winter.  My  warriors  fell  around  me ;  it  began 
to  look  dismal.  I  saw  my  evil  day  at  hand.  The  sun  rose  dim  on'^us 
in  the  morning,  and  at  night  it  sank  in  a  dark  cloud,  and  looked  like 
a  ball  of  fire.  That  was  the  last  sun  that  shone  on  Black  Hawk. 
His  heart  is  dead,  and  no  longer  beats  quick  in  his  bosom.  He  is  now 
a  prisoner  to  the  white  men ;  they  will  do  with  him  as  they  wish. 
But  he  can  stand  torture,  and  is  not  afraid  of  death.  He  is  no  cow- 
ard.   Black  Hawk  is  an  Indian. 

He  has  done  nothing  for  which  an  Indian  ought  to  be  ashamed.  He 
has  fought  for  his  countrymen,  against  white  men,  who  came,  year 
after  year,  to  cheat  them,  and  take  away  their  lands.  You  know  the 
cause  of  our  making  war.  It  is  known  to  all  white  men.  They 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  The  white  men  despise  the  Indians,  and 
drive  them  from  their  homes.  They  smile  in  the  face  of  the  poor 
Indian,  to  cheat  him ;  they  shake  him  by  the  hand,  to  gain  his  confi- 
dence, to  make  him  drunk,  and  to  deceive  him.  We  told  them  to  let 
us  alone,  and  keep  away  from  us ;  but  they  followed  on  and  beset  cur 
paths,  and  they  coiled  themselves  among  us  like  the  snake.  They 
wisoned  us  by  their  touch.  We  were  not  safe.  We  lived  in  danger. 
We  looked  up  to  the  Grreat  Spirit.  We  went  to  our  father.  We 
weixj  encouraged.  His  great  council  gave  us  fair  words  and  big  prom- 
ises ;  but  we  got  no  satisfaction  :  things  were  growing  worse.  There 
were  no  deer  in  the  forest.  The  opossum  and  beaver  were  fled.  The 
«!prings  were  drying  up,  and  our  squaws  and  pappooses  without 
vdctuals  to  keep  them  from  starving. 

We  called  a  great  council,  and  built  a  large  fire.  The  spirit  of  out 
fathers  arose,  and  spoke  to  us  to  avenge  ouj-  wrong's  or  die.   ,We  sei 


552 


TBE  STANDARD  SPEAKEK. 


ap  tne  war-whoop,  and  dug  up  the  tomahawk ;  our  knives  were  ready, 
and  the  heart  of  Black  Hawk  swelled  high  in  his  bosom,  when  he  led 
his  warriors  to  battle.  He  is  satisfied.  He  will  go  to  iJie  world  of 
spirits  contented.  He  has  done  his  duty.  His  father  will  meet  him 
there,  and  commend  him.  Black  Hawk  is  a  true  Indian,  and  disdainf 
to  cry  like  a  woman.  He  feels  for  his  wife,  his  children,  and  hia 
friends.  But  he  does  not  care  for  himself.  He  cares  for  the  Natioc 
and  the  Indians.  They  will  sulFer.  He  laments  their  fate.  Fare- 
well, my  Nation  !  Black  Hawk  tried  to  save  you,  and  avenge  yom' 
wrongs.  He  drank  the  blood  of  some  of  the  whites.  He  has  been 
taken  prisoner,  and  his  plans  are  crushed.  He  can  do  no  more.  He 
is  near  his  end.  His  sun  is  setting,  and  he  will  rise  no  more.  Fare- 
well to  Black  Hawk ! 


2.  TO  THE  SECRETARY  OF  WAR,  1824.  —  Pushmataha.    Born,  1764  ;  died,  1824. 

Father  —  I  have  been  here  at  the  council-house  some  time ;  but  1 
have  not  talked.  I  have  not  been  strong  enough  to  talk.  You  shall 
hear  me  talk  to-day.  I  belong  to  another  district.  You  have,  no 
doubt,  heard  of  me.    I  am  Pushmataha. 

Father  —  When  in  my  own  country,  I  often  looked  towards  this 
council-house,  and  wanted  to  come  here,  I  am  in  trouble.  I  will 
tell  my  distresses.  I  feel  like  a  small  child,  not  half  as  high  as  its 
father,  who  comes  up  to  look  in  his  father's  face,  hanging  in  the  bend 
of  his  arm,  to  tell  him  his  troubles.  So,  father,  I  hang  in  the  bend 
of  your  arm,  and  look  in  your  face ;  and  now  hear  me  speak. 

Father  —  When  I  was  in  my  own  country,  I  heard  there  were  meis 
appointed  to  talk  to  us.  I  would  not  speak  there ;  I  chose  to  come 
here,  and  speak  in  this  beloved  house ;  for  Pushmataha  can  boast,  and 
say,  and  tell  the  truth,  that  none  of  his  fathers,  or  grandfathers,  or 
any  Choctaw,  ever  drew  bow  against  the  United  States,  They  have 
always  been  friendly.  We  have  held  the  hands  of  the  United  States 
80  long,  that  our  nails  are  long  like  birds'  claws ;  and  there  is  nc 
danger  of  their  slipping  out. 

Father  —  I  have  come  to  speak.  My  nation  has  always  listened  to 
the  applications  of  the  white  people.  They  have  given  of  their 
country  till  it  is  very  small.  I  came  here,  when  a  young  man,  to  see 
ray  Father  Jefferson.  He  told  me,  if  ever  we  got  in  trouble,  we  must 
run  and  tell  him.  I  am  come.  This  is  a  friendly  talk  ;  it  is  like 
that  of  a  man  who  meets  another,  and  says.  How  do  you  do  ?  Ad» 
Either  of  my  tribe  shall  talk  further.  He  shall  say  what  PushmaUha 
would  say,  were  he  stronger.  ^ 


I  SUPPOSED  SPEECH  OF  A  CHIEF  OF  THE  POCOMTUC  INDIANS.  —Edviard  Everett 

White  man,  there  is  eternal  war  between  me  and  thee !  I  quit  not 
the  land  of  my  fathers  but  with  my  life.  In  those  woods  where  1 
bent  my  youthful  bow,  I  will  still  hunt  the  deer.     Over  vowdei 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


558 


praters  I  will  fltill  glide  unrestrained  in  my  bark  canoe.  By  those  dash« 
mg  waterfalls  I  will  still  lay  up  my  winter's  store  of  food.  On  these 
fertile  meadows  I  will  still  plant  my  corn.  Stranger,  the  land  is 
mine !  I  understand  not  these  paper  rights.  I  gave  not  my  consent 
when,  as  thou  sayest,  these  broad  regions  were  purchased,  for  a  few 
baubles,  of  my  fathers.  They  could  sell  what  was  theirs ;  they  could 
Bell  no  more.  How  could  my  fathers  sell  that  which  the  Great  Spirit 
Bent  me  into  the  world  to  live  upon  ?  They  knew  not  what  they  did. 
The  stranger  came,  a  timid  suppliant,  few  and  feeble,  and  asked  to  lie 
down  on  the  red  man's  bear-skin,  and  warm  himself  at  the  red  man's 
dre,  and  have  a  little  piece  of  land  to  raise  corn  for  his  women  and 
children ;  and  now  he  is  become  strong,  and  mighty,  and  bold  and 
spreads  out  his  parchment  over  the  whole,  and  says.  It  is  mine. 
Stranger,  there  is  not  room  for  us  both.  The  Great  Spirit  has  not 
made  us  to  live  together.  There  is  poison  in  the  white  man's  cup ;  the 
white  man's  dog  barks  at  the  red  man's  heels- 

If  I  should  leave  the  land  of  my  fathers,  whither  shall  I  fly  ?  Shall 
I  go  to  the  South,  and  dwell  among  the  graves  of  the  Pequots  ?  Shall  I 
wander  to  the  West  ?  —  the  fierce  Mohawk,  the  man-eater,  is  my  foe. 
Shall  I  fly  to  the  East  ?  —  tho  great  water  is  before  me.  No,  stranger ; 
here  I  have  lived,  and  here  I  will  die  !  and  if  here  thou  abidest,  there  is 
eternal  war  between  me  and  thee.  Thou  hast  taught  me  thy  arts  of 
destruction.  For  that  alone  I  thank  thee;  and  now  take  heed  to  thy 
steps ;  —  the  red  man  is  thy  foe.  When  thou  goest  forth  by  day,  my 
bullet  shall  whistle  by  thee ;  when  thou  liest  down  at  night,  my  knife 
is  at  thy  throat.  The  noonday  sun  shall  not  discover  thy  enemy,  and 
the  darkness  of  midnight  shall  not  protect  thy  rest.  Thou  shalt  plant 
in  terror,  and  I  will  reap  in  blood ;  thou  shalt  sow  the  earth  with  corn, 
and  I  will  strew  it  with  ashes ;  thou  shalt  go  forth  with  the  sickle,  and 
I  will  follow  after  with  the  scalping-knife ;  thou  shalt  build,  and  I  will 
burn,  till  the  white  man  or  the  Indian  shall  cease  from  the  land.  Go 
thy  way,  for  this  time,  in  safety ;  but  remember,  stranger,  there  is 
eternal  war  between  me  and  thee . 


4.    LOGAN,  A  MINGO  CHIEF,  TO  LORD  DUNMORE- 
The  charge  against  Colonel  Cresap,  in  the  subjoined  speech,  —  or,  rather,  message,  —  seut  to 
Lord  Dimmore,  Governor  of  Virginia,  in  1774,  through  John  Gibson,  an  Indian  trader,  has  been 
proved  to  be  untrue.    Gibson  corrected  Logan  on  the  spot,  but  probably  felt  bound  to  deliver 
ihe  speech  as  it  was  delivered  to  him. 

I  APPEAL  to  any  white  man  to  say,  if  ever  he  entered  Logan's  cabin 
Hungry,  and  he  gave  him  not  meat ;  if  ever  he  came  cold  and  naked, 
and  he  clothed  him  not.  During  the  course  of  the  last  long  and 
bloody  war,  Logan  remained  idle  in  his  cabin,  an  advocate  for  peace. 
Such  was  my  love  for  the  whites,  that  my  countrymen  pointed  at  me 

they  passed,  and  said,  "  Logan  is  the  friend  of  white  men."  I  had 
even  thought  to  have  lived  with  you,  but  for  the  injuries  of  one  man. 
C/jlonel  Cresap,  the  last  spring,  in  cold  blood,  and  unprovoked,  mur- 
iered  al'  the  relations  of  Logan,  not  sparing  even  my  women  aod  chil« 


554 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKEJU 


iren.  There  runs  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any  living 
ereature.  This  called  on  me  for  revenge.  I  have  sought  it.  I  have 
silled  many.  I  have  glutted  my  vengeance.  For  my  country,  1 
eejoice  at  the  beams  of  peace.  But  do  not  think  that  mine  is  the  joy 
cf  fear.  Logan  never  felt  fear.  Logan  will  not  turn  on  his  heel  to 
save  bis  life  J    Who  is  there  to  mourn  for  Logan  ?    Not  one 


6.   MOBAL  COSMETICS.  —  Horace  Smith.   Born,  1779  j  died,  1849. 

Ye  who  would  save  your  features  florid, 
Lithe  limbs,  bright  eyes,  unwrinkled  forehead, 
From  Age's  devastation  horrid, 

Adopt  this  plan,  — 
'T  will  make,  in  climate  cold  or  torrid, 

A  hale  old  man  : 

Avoid,  in  youth,  luxurious  diet ; 
Kestrain  the  passions'  lawless  riot  ; 
Devoted  to  domestic  quiet, 

Be  wisely  gay ; 
So  shall  ye,  spite  of  Age's  fiat. 

Resist  decay. 

Seek  not,  in  Mammon's  worship,  pleasure ; 
But  find  your  richest,  dearest  treasure, 
In  books,  friends,  music,  polished  leisure : 

The  mind,  not  sense, 
Made  the  sole  scale  by  which  to  measure 

Your  opulence. 

This  is  the  solace,  this  the  science, 
Life's  purest,  sweetest,  best  appliance, 
That  disappoints  not  man's  reliance, 

Whate'er  his  state ; 
But  challenges,  with  calm  defiance, 

Time,  fortune,  fate. 


A    THE  PAUPER'S  DEATH-BED.  —  Caroline  Bowles  SwUkti 

Tread  softly,  —  bow  the  head,  — 

In  reverent  silence  bow ; 
No  passing  bell  doth  toll,  — 
Yet  an  immortal  soul 

Is  passing  now. 

Stranger,  however  great, 

With  holy  reverence  bow ;  — - 

There 's  one  in  that  poor  shed,  — - 

One  by  that  paltry  bed,  — 
Greater  than  thou. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  —  HORACE  SMITH. 


Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo  !  death  doth  keep  his  state  ; 

Enter,  —  no  crowds  attend ; 

Enter,  —  no  guards  defend 
This  palace  gate. 

That  pavement,  damp  and  cold. 

No  smiling  courtiers  tread ; 
One  silent  woman  stands, 
Lifting,  with  meagre  hands, 
A  dying  head. 

No  mingling  voices  sound,  — 

An  infant  wail  alone ; 
A  sob  suppressed,  —  again 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  and  then 

The  parting  groan. 

0,  change  !  —  0,  wondrous  change ! 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars,  — 
This  moment,  there,  so  low, 
So  agonized,  and  now 

Beyond  the  stars ! 

0,  change !  —  stupendous  change ' 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod ; 
The  Sun  eternal  breaks,  — 
The  new  immortal  wakes,  — 
Wakes  with  his  God ! 


7.  HOPE.  —  Sarah  F.  Adams. 

Hf>pji!  leads  the  child  to  plant  the  flower,  the  m^m  to  sow  the  seed , 

Nor  leaves  fulfilment  to  her  hour,  but  prompts  again  to  deed. 

And  ere  upon  the  old  man's  dust  the  grass  is  seen  to  wave. 

We  look  through  falling  tears  to  trust  Hope's  sunshine  on  the  grav« 

0  no !  it  is  no  flattering  lure,  —  no  fancy  weak  or  fond,  — 

When  hope  would  bid  us  rest  secure  in  better  life  beyond. 

Nor  loss,  nor  shame,  nor  grief,  nor  sin,  her  promise  may  g-ain^sa^ 

The  voice  divine  hath  spoke  within,  and  God  did  ne'er  betray.  * 


8.  DEATH.  — ^ToraceSmtYA. 

Fate'  Foitune  !  Chance!  whose  blindness,  hostility  or  kindnfl<» 
Play  such  strange  freaks  with  human  destinies,  — 

Contrasting  poor  and  wealthy,  the  life-diseased  and  healtny. 
The  blessed,  the  cursed,  the  witless  and  the  wise,  — 

To  have  a  master ;  one,  who  mars  what  ye  have  dene  • 

Levelling  all  that  move  beneath  the  sun,  ~ 
Death ! 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


Take  courage,      Aat  languish  beneath  the  withering  anguish 

Of  open  wrong,  or  tyrannous  deceit ; 
Fhere  comes  a  swift  redresser  to  punish  your  oppressor, 

And  lay  him  prostrate,  helpless,  at  your  feet ! 
0,  Champion  strong  !  Righter  of  wrong  i 
Justice,  equality,  to  thee  belong, — 
Death 

WTitre  Conquest  crowns  his  quarre.,  and  the  victor,  wreathed 
laurel. 

While  trembling  Nations  bow  beneath  his  rod. 
On  his  guarded  throne  reposes,  in  living  apotheosis, 

The  Lord's  anointed  and  earth's  demigod,  — 
What  form  of  fear  croaks  in  his  ear 
"  The  victor's  car  is  but  a  funeral  bier  "  ^ 
Death! 

Who,  spite  of  guards  and  yeomen,  steel  phalanx  and  cross-bowmen, 

Leaps,  at  a  bound,  the  shuddering  castle's  moat. 
The  tyrant's  crown  down  dashes,  his  sceptre  treads  to  ashes, 

With  rattling  finger  grasps  him  by  the  throat, 
His  breath  out-wrings,  and  his  corse  down  flings 
To  the  dark  pit  where  grave- worms  feed  on  kings  ?  — 
Death ! 

When  the  murderer 's  undetected,  when  the  robber 's  unsuspected, 
And  night  has  veiled  his  crime  from  every  eye,  — 

When  nothing  living  daunts  him,  and  no  fear  of  justice  haunts  him 
Who  v/akes  his  conscience-stricken  agony  ? 

Who  makes  him  start,  with  his  withering  dart. 

And  wrings  the  secret  from  his  bursting  heart  ?  — 
Death ! 

To  those  who  pine  in  sorrow,  whose  wretchedness  can  borrow 

No  moment's  ease  from  any  human  act,  — 
To  the  widow  comfort-spurning,  to  the  slave  for  freedom  yearning, 

To  th3  diseased,  with  cureless  anguish  racked, — 
Who  brings  release,  and  whispers  peace 
A.nd  points  to  realms  where  pain  and  sorrow  cease? — 
Death ! 


9.  LACHRYMOSE  WRT£ER2.  — Horace  Smith, 

Ye  human  screech-owls,  who  delight 

To  herald  woe,  —  whose  day  is  night, 
Whose  mental  food  is  misery  and  moans,  — 

If  ye  must  needs  uphold  the  pall. 

And  walk  at  Pleasure's  funeral. 
Be  Mut<3s  —  and  puMish  not  your  cries  and  groans 


MTSOELLANErjUS.-.  HORACE  SMITH. 

ie  say  that  Earth  'g  a  charnel ;  Life, 

Incessant  wretchedness  and  strife  ; 
That  all  is  doom  below  and  wrath  above ; 

The  sun  and  moon,  sepulchraj  lamps ; 

The  sky,  a  vault  whose  baleful  damps 
Soon  blight  and  moulder  all  that  live  and  love. 

Ungrateful  and  calumnious  crew, 

Whose  plaints,  as  impious  as  untrue. 
From  morbid  intellects  derive  their  birth,  — 

Away !  begone,  to  mope  and  moan, 

And  weep  in  some  asylum  lone, 
Where  ye  may  rail  unheard  at  Heaven  and  Earth 

Earth  !  on  whose  stage,  in  pomp  arrayed, 
Life's  joyous  interlude  is  played,  — 
Earth  !  with  thy  pageants  ever  new  and  bright  , 
Thy  woods  and  waters,  hills  and  dales, 
How  dead  must  be  the  soul  that  fails 
•   To  see  and  bless  thy  beauties  infinite ! 

Man !  whose  high  intellect  supplies 

A  never  failing  Paradise 
Of  holy  and  enrapturing  pursuits; 

Whose  heart 's  a  fount  of  fresh  delight,  — 

Pity  the  Cynics,  who  would  blight 
Thy  godlike  gifts,  and  rank  thee  with  the  brutis 

O,  "W Oman  !  who  from  realms  above 

Hast  brought  to  Earth  a  Heaven  of  love, 
Terrestrial  angel,  beautiful  as  pure ! 

No  pains,  no  penalties,  dispense 

On  thy  traducers,  —  their  offence 
Is  its  own  punishment,  most  sharp  and  sure. 

Father  and  God  !  whose  love  and  might 

To  every  sense  are  blazoned  bright 
On  the  vast  three-leaved  Bible,  —  Earth,  Sea,  Sff>^ 

Pardon  the  impugners  of  Thy  laws. 

Expand  their  hearts,  and  give  them  cause 
To  bless  the  exhaustless  grace  they  now  deny  I 


10.  m^E  SANCT^J Any. -Horace  Smith.  Adapted. 

For  man  there  still  is  left  one  sacred  charter: 
One  refuge  still  remains  for  human  woes. 

Victim  of  care !  or  persecution's  martyr  ! 
Who  seek'st  a  sure  asylum,  from  thy  foes., 

Learn  that  the  holiest,  safest,  purest  best, 
Is  man's  own  breast ' 


THE  STANDARD  SPEAKER. 


There  is  a  solemn  sanctuary,  founded 
By  God  himself;  not  for  transgressors  meant , 
A  ^T'^}^        oppressed,  the  spirit-wounded, 
And  all  beneath  the  world's  injustice  bent, 

Might  turn  from  outward  wrong,  turmoil  and  dm. 
To  peace  within 

Each  bosom  is  a  temple,  —  when  its  altar 
The  living  heart,  is  unprofaned  and  pure, 

its  verge  is  hallowed ;  none  need  fear  or  falte- 
Who  thither  fly  ;  it  is  an  ark  secure. 

VVmmng,  above  a  world  o'erwhelmed  with  wraa. 
Its  peaceful  path. 

O,  Bower  of  Bliss  !    0,  sanctuary  holy ! 

Terrestrial  antepast  of  heavenly  joy, 
Never,  0,  never  may  misdeed  or  folly 

My  claim  to  thy  beatitudes  destroy  ! 
Still  may  I  keep  this  Paradise  unlost, 
Where'er  I 'm  tost ! 

E'en  in  the  flesh,  the  spirit  disembodied, 

Unchecked  by  time  and  space,  may  soar  elate, 

In  silent  awe  to  commune  with  the  Godhead.- 
Or  the  millennium  reign  anticipate, 

When  Earth  shall  be  all  sanctity  P>nd  lov^, 
Like  Heaven  above. 

How  sweet  to  turn  from  anguish,  guilt  and  m.'.dnes!Sf 
From  scenes  where  strife  and  tumult  never  cease 

To  that  Elysian  world  of  bosomed  gladness,  ' 
Where  all  is  concord,  charity  and  peace ; 

And,  sheltered  from  the  storm,  the  soul  may  rest 
On  Its  own  nest ! 

WTien,  spleenful  as  the  sensitive  Mimosa, 

We  shrink  from  Winter's  touch  and  Naturc^s  gioa 

There  may  we  conjure  up  a  Vallombrosa, 

Where  groves  and  bowers  in  Summer  bea-jty  bloo^^ 

And  the  heart  dances  in  the  sunny  glade 
Fancy  has  made. 

But,  would  we  dedicate  to  nobler  uses 

This  bosom  sanctuary,  let  us  there 
Hallow  our  hearts  from  all  the  world's  abuses ; 

While  high  and  charitable  thoughts,  and  prayer 
May  teach  us  gratitude  to  God,  combined 
With  love  of  kind. 


^  OEE  than  three-quarters  of  a  century  have  elapsed  since  the  house 
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